nsed and dressed his
wounds, working with the quiet impersonal certainty of touch that did
not betray the inner turmoil of her soul. But McWilliams, his eyes
following her every motion and alert to anticipate her needs, saw that
the color had washed from her face and that she was controlling herself
only to meet the demands of the occasion.

As she was finishing, the sheepman opened his eyes and looked at her.

"You are not to speak or ask questions. You have been wounded and we are
going to take care of you," she ordered.

"That's right good of y'u. I ce'tainly feet mighty trifling." His wide
eyes traveled round till they fell on the foreman. "Y'u see I came
back to help fill your hospital. Am I there now? Where am I?" His gaze
returned to Helen with the sudden irritation of the irresponsible sick.

"You are at the Lazy D, in my room. You are not to worry about anything.
Everything's all right."

He took her at her word and his eyes closed; but presently he began to
mutter unconnected words and phrases. When his lids lifted again there
was a wilder look in his eyes, and she knew that delirium was beginning.
At intervals it lasted for long; indeed, until the doctor came next
morning in the small hours. He talked of many things Helen Messiter did
not understand, of incidents in his past life, some of them jerky with
the excitement of a tense moment, others apparently snatches of talk
with relatives. It was like the babbling of a child, irrelevant and yet
often insistent. He would in one breath give orders connected with the
lambing of his sheep, in the next break into football talk, calling out
signals and imploring his men to hold them or to break through and get
the ball. Once he broke into curses, but his very oaths seemed to come
from a clean heart and missed the vulgarity they might have had. Again
his talk rambled inconsequently over his youth, and he would urge
himself or someone else of the same name to better life.

"Ned, Ned, remember your mother," he would beseech. "She asked me to
look after you. Don't go wrong." Or else it would be, "Don't disgrace
the general, Ned. You'll break his heart if you blacken the old name."
To this theme he recurred repeatedly, and she noticed that when he
imagined himself in the East his language was correct and his intonation
cultured, though still with a suggestion of a Southern softness.

But when he spoke of her his speech lapsed into the familiar drawl of
Cattleland.