Part 37 (1/2)

So saying, Ike, without another glance at the disappointed Crawley, strode away with the letter to find Marion.

He found her busy in the school. She read the letter, looked at Ike with white face and wide-open eyes, read it a second time, and said, ”He wants Mr. Macgregor, quick--and me. He is ill. Oh, Ike!” she cried suddenly, ”he is ill, and Mr. Macgregor is away.”

”Where did he go?” said Ike shortly.

”I heard him say to Willow Creek, to the Martins. The doctor is with him.”

”The Martins, eh? Why, that's only eight miles, I reckon. Well, git yourself ready and your horse. I'll be back in an hour and a half.”

He turned away, but after he had gone a few steps he strode back.

”No use lookin' like that,” he said almost gruffly. ”We'll git a wagon and bring him home easy. A wagon's easier than ridin', though 'taint likely he's very bad.”

”Bad!” exclaimed Marion, with a sob. ”Oh, Ike you don't know my father.

If he were not bad he would not--” Here her voice failed her.

”Don't you worry, miss. We'll be on the trail in two hours. And look here, we'll want beddin' and lots of things, so hustle.” And Ike set off with long strides. ”Hustle's the word for her. Got to keep her busy, poor girl!” he said to himself. ”Guess he's a goner. You bet that old chap don't weaken for no belly-ache. He's right bad.”

The only wagon in the place belonged to Carroll. ”Want your wagon and outfit, Carroll,” said Ike briefly. ”Old Prospector's pretty bad. Got to get him home.”

Carroll growled a refusal. He had never recovered his wanted good nature since his encounter with Shock, and his resentment against the one man, seemed to poison his whole nature against all.

”What!” said Ike, amazed at Carroll's refusal. In that country men in need of anything helped themselves without reference to the owner.

”Why, sure, Carroll,” interposed Crawley hastily. ”You'll let Ike have that wagon. I tell you what, I'll drive it for him. Shut up, Carroll!”

he said in an aside. ”When do you start, Ike? Two hours? I'll be there.”

In an hour and a half, true to his word, Ike was back with Shock and the doctor. Before another half hour had gone past they were all on the trail, Marion riding her pony, Shock and the doctor in the buckboard, and Crawley driving the wagon, in which, besides mattress and bedding, were saddles for use when the trail should forbid wheels.

After long hesitation Ike decided that he ought not to join the party.

”That there Crawley,” he argued to himself, ”aint to be trusted, especially when he's goin' round lookin' like a blank hyena. But I guess I'll have to let him go and git back to the ranch.” And so with an uneasy feeling Ike watched them set off.

Half-way back to the ranch he met his boss.

”h.e.l.lo, Ike,” saluted The Kid gaily. ”You're needing a powder. Off your feed, eh?”

”Howdy, boss,” replied the cowboy gravely.

”I'm feelin' proper enough, but there's others not so frisky.”

”What's up, Ike? Your grandmother poorly?”

”Well, do you know,” said Ike, watching The Kid keenly with his half shut eyes, ”there's been a great mix-up at The Lake there. A breed, half dead with the saddle, came from the Old Prospector askin' for the preacher. Guess the old chap's about quittin' the trail.”

The Kid's hand tightened on the reins.

”Hit him there, I reckon,” grunted Ike to himself, but the other paid no attention. ”So,” continued Ike, ”they've all gone off.”

”Who?”