ouse?" Arizona protested.

"Yes, yes, of course." Then the passion of grief let itself loose, and
Diane cried, "And why not? Where else should he go? He belongs to me.
Why do you stand there like an imbecile? Take him at once. Oh, Jack,
Jack, why don't you speak? Oh, take him quickly! You said he would
bleed to death. He isn't dead? No, tell me he isn't dead?"

"Dead? Dead? Ha, ha!" Arizona threw all the scorn he was capable of
into the words, and laughed with funereal gravity. "Say, that's real
good--real good. Him dead? Wal, I guess not. Pshaw! Say, missie, you
ain't ast after my health, an' I'm guessin' I oughter be sicker'n him,
wi' that mare o' his. Say, jest git right ahead an' fix that bunk fer
him, like the daisy gal you are. What about bl--your father, missie?"

"Never mind father. Come along."

The man's horse-like attempt at lightness had its effect. The girl
pulled herself together. She realized the emergency. She knew that
Tresler needed her help. Arizona's manner had only emphasized the
gravity of his case.

She ran on ahead, and the other, bearing the unconscious man,
followed.

"Never mind father," Arizona muttered doubtfully. "Wal, here goes."
Then he called back to Joe: "Git around that mare an' sling the saddle
on a fresh plug; guess I'll need it."

He passed through the kitchen, and stepping into the hall he was
startled by the apparition of the blind man standing in the doorway of
his bedroom. He was clad in his customary dressing-gown, and his eyes
glowed ruddily in the light of the kitchen lamp.

"What's this?" he asked sharply.

"Tresler's bin done up," Arizona replied at once. "Guess the gang got
around Willow Bluff--God's curse light on 'em!"

"Hah! And where are you taking him?"

"Up-sta'rs," was the brief reply. Then the cowpuncher bethought him of
his duty to his employer. "Guess the cattle are safe, fer which you
ken thank the sheriff's gang. Miss Dianny's hustlin' a bunk fer him,"
he added.

In spite of his usual assurance, Arizona never felt easy with this
man. Now the rancher's manner decidedly thawed.

"Yes, yes," he said gently. "Take the poor boy up-stairs. You'd better
go for the doctor. You can give me the details afterward."

He turned back into his room, and the other passed up the stairs.

He laid the sick man on the bed, and pointed out to the girl the
bandage on his neck, advising, in his practical fashion, its
readjustment. Then he went swiftly from the hous