ped back and
watched the patient react to the powerful heart-stimulant. Pete's
breathing became more regular.

The surgeon had been gone for a few minutes when Pete's heavy lids
opened.

"It--was gittin'--mighty dark--down there," he whispered. And Pete
stared up at her, his great dark eyes slowly brightening under the
artificial stimulant. Doris bent over him and smoothed his hair back
from his forehead. "I'm the--the Ridin' Kid--from--Powder River," he
whispered hoarsely. "I kin ride 'em comin' or goin'--but I don't wear
no coat next journey. My hand caught in the pocket." He glanced
toward the doorway. "But we fooled 'em. Ed got away, so I reckon I'll
throw in with you, Spider." Pete tried to lift himself up, but the
nurse pressed him gently back. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on his
forehead. Doris put her hand on the back of his. At the touch his
lips moved. "Boca was down there--in the dark--smilin' and tellin' me
it was all right and to come ahead," he whispered. "I was tryin' to
climb out--of that there--canon . . . Andy throwed his rope . . .
Caught it just in time . . . And Andy he laughs. Reckon he didn't
know--I was--all in . . ." Pete breathed deeply, muttered, and drifted
into an easy sleep. Doris watched him for a while, fighting her own
desire to sleep. She knew that the crisis was past, and with that
knowledge came a physical let-down that left her worn and desperately
weary: not because she had been on duty almost twenty-four hours
without rest--she was young and could stand that--but because she had
given so much of herself to this case from the day Pete had been
brought in--through the operation which was necessarily savage, and up
to the moment when he had fallen asleep, after having passed so close
to the border of the dark Unknown. And now that she knew he would
recover, she felt strangely disinterested in her work at the hospital.
But being a rather practical young person, never in the least morbid,
she attributed this unusual indifference to her own condition. She
would not allow herself to believe that the life she had seen slipping
away, and which she had drawn back from the shadows, could ever mean
anything to her, aside from her profession. And why should it? This
dark-eyed boy was a stranger, an outcast, even worse, if she were to
believe what the papers said of him. Yet he had been so patient and
uncomplaining that first night when she knew that he must have be