The Terms of Surrender. Tracy Louis

any use, tell me what to do, or where to go – for the doctor, I mean.”

      By this time MacGonigal had assured himself that Power’s clothing was not full of bullet-holes, and he began to believe that Benson, whom he recognized, was telling the truth.

      “Give him to me,” he said, with an air of quiet self-confidence. “Back of some sugar casks in the warehouse thar you’ll find a stretcher. Bring that along, an’ we’ll lay him in the veranda till the doc shows up.”

      Soon the hardly conscious sufferer was reposing with some degree of comfort in a shaded nook with his back to the light. MacGonigal, whose actions were strangely deft-handed and gentle for so stout a man, was persuading him to drink some brandy.

      “He has collapsed all at once,” said Benson commiseratingly. “He perked up and chatted in great shape while I was bringing him through the Gulch.”

      “Did he now?.. Yes, Derry, it’s me, Mac. Just another mouthful… An’ what did he talk about, Mr. Benson?”

      “Oh, mostly about the wedding, I guess.”

      “Nat’rally. He’d be kind of interested in hearin’ how Marten had scooped up Nancy Willard.”

      Some acrid quality in the storekeeper’s tone must have pierced the fog which had settled on Power’s brain. He raised a hand to push away the glass held to his lips.

      “Say, I’ve only secured a broken leg, Mac,” he murmured, smiling into the anxious face bent over him. “I don’t want to be doped as well. Perhaps Mr. Benson will mount that nag of his, and bring Peters.”

      “Look-a here, Derry, hadn’t we better send to Denver?”

      “No. Peters has set dozens of legs and arms.”

      “I guess he’s back at the ranch. He went thar, an’ I hain’t seen him among the crowd.”

      “Is he a tall, red-whiskered chap, with a nose that needs keeping out of the sun?” broke in Benson.

      “Yep. That’s him.”

      “Well, he’s there now – and – not so bad. Does he really understand bone-setting?”

      “Sure. He’s all to rights when not too much in likker.”

      “I’ll have him here in half an hour.”

      Benson whistled to the dog, and they heard the clattering hoofbeats of the cob’s hurried departure. MacGonigal brought a chair, and sat by his friend’s side.

      “Was it a reel tumble, Derry?” he asked softly.

      “Seems like it, Mac. Don’t worry your kind old fat head. No one saw me. Let me lie quiet now, there’s a good soul. I’ve done enough thinking for today.”

      “Say, Boy, kin yer smoke?”

      “No – not till the doc is through.”

      MacGonigal bit the end off a cigar, bit it viciously, as if he were annoyed at it. Then he struck a match by drawing it sharply along the side of his leg, and lit the cigar; but not another word did he utter until a thunder of hoofs disturbed the hot silence of the afternoon.

      “Guess that’s some of the boys comin’ from the depot,” whispered Mac. “They’ll not suspicion you’re here, Derry, an’ I’ll soon have a stampede by tellin’ ’em the doc is loose among the bottles.”

      True to his promise, he got rid of the thirsty ones quickly; for this smaller batch had not even awaited the departure of the train.

      “Air you awake, Derry?” he inquired, when he had crept back softly to his chair.

      “Yes.”

      “What’s this yarn about One-thumb Jake shootin’ a rattler?”

      “I – don’t know. He didn’t shoot me, Mac. I got slammed on a rock, good and hard.”

      “I on’y axed because I’m nearly fed up with Jake an’ his gun-play.”

      “Ah, quit it, you sleuth. Jake wouldn’t pull his gun on me, not even at Marten’s bidding.”

      “He kin be the biggest damn fool in Bison when he’s loaded. Anyhow, I’ll take your say-so.”

      There was another period of quietude, when brooding thought sat heavy on MacGonigal, and pain gnawed Power with its sharpest tooth. Then came the sound of galloping horses again, and Benson appeared, guiding a big man who rolled in his walk; for the fast canter had stirred many varieties of alcohol in an overburdened system. The private secretary’s voice was raised in order that the others might hear.

      “I would advise you to bandage the limb sufficiently to give Mr. Power some sort of ease until Dr. Stearn comes from Denver,” he was urging. “I am sure that Mr. Marten would wish this case to be attended by his own doctor, and I know that Dr. Stearn attends him.”

      “Stearn! What does that old mutt know about surgery?” shouted Peters. “I could set a compound fracture while he was searching around for his eyeglasses… Hullo, Mac! You’re always the right man in the right place. Bring me a highball, to clear the dust out of the pipes.”

      “You jest fix Derry first, Peters, an’ you kin hev two highballs.”

      The red-whiskered man, whose medical degree was a blend of sheer impudence and a good deal of rough-and-ready experience, knew MacGonigal so well that he did not attempt to argue.

      “Very well,” he said sulkily. “Break up an egg box, and saw it into eighteen-inch lengths, four inches wide. You have a roll of lint and scissors? I’ll rip up his trousers, and have a look at the place.”

      His actions were decided, but somewhat awkward. When Power winced because of a careless handling of the injured limb, he only guffawed.

      “Nips you a bit!” he grunted. “Of course it does. I’d like to know what you expected. Did you fancy you could flop over the Gulch like a crow?.. Oh, here we are! Just an ordinary smash. Hurry up with those splints, Mac. Now, just set your teeth and grin hard while I pull… There! Did you hear it? I’ll not hurt you more than I can help while I do the dressing. Got any bromide in that den of yours, Mac? Well, give him a ten-grain dose every three hours till he sleeps. Get the rest of his clothes off, keep him in bed for three weeks, and the rest may be left safely to Nature. Gee whizz! I’m chewing mud. Where in hell do you keep your whisky?”

      “Doctor” Peters had a professional manner which did not inspire confidence; but he seemed to understand what he was about, and Benson, when he could be of no further service, went to the reduction mill, where he had business which detained him until a late hour. Next morning, on his way to Denver, he called at the store, and visited Power, who was feeling a great deal better, and was confident that the damaged limb would soon be as sound as ever.

      “I hope you won’t think it necessary to trouble Mr. Marten with any report of my accident,” went on the invalid. “You see, in a sort of a way, it happened in connection with his marriage, as I was watching the festivities when it happened – had my eyes anywhere but where they ought to be, I suppose – and if his wife came to hear of it she might take it to heart. Sometimes a woman has odd notions about such things occurring on her wedding day.”

      “Right you are,” agreed Benson cheerfully.

      A remark dropped by the manager of the mill had supplied a reason for the young engineer’s interest in the marriage, and he had come to the conclusion that the sooner the whole affair was forgotten the better it would be for all parties.

      “I’ll be in Denver till September or thereabouts; but I’ll be seeing you long before then,” he continued. “What about squaring your account? I think I have all the details in the office.”

      “Pay what is coming to me by check to Smith & Moffat’s bank,” said Power. “They’ll let me know when they get the money, and you can mail a receipt here for my signature. By the way, I wish to resign my position on Marten’s staff as from yesterday.”

      “Sorry to hear that. Do you really mean it?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then