on--it's breaking day, and yuh
haven't got any too much time to waste."

I looked at him, at Spikes standing wearily on three legs but with his
ears perked gamily ahead, and down at the gray, worn-out horse of Perry
Potter's. They have done what they could--and not one seemed to regret the
service. I felt, at that moment, mighty small and unworthy, and tempted
to reject the offer of the last ounce of endurance from either--for which
I was not as deserving as I should have liked to be.

"You worked all day, and you've ridden all night, and gone without a
mouthful of supper for me," I protested hotly. "And now you want to walk
ten beastly miles of sand and hills. I won't--"

"Your dad cared enough to send for you--" he began, but I would not let
him finish.

"You're right, Frosty," and I wrung his hand. "You're the real thing, and
I'd do as much for you, old pal. I'll make that Frenchman rub Spikes down
for an hour, or I'll kill him when I get back."

"You won't come back," said Frosty bruskly. "See that streak uh yellow,
over there? Get a move on, if yuh don't want to miss that train--but ease
Spikes up the hills!"

I nodded, pulled my hat down low over my eyes, and rode away; when I did
get courage to glance back, Frosty still stood where I had left him,
looking down at the gray horse.

An hour after sunrise I slipped off Spikes and watched them lead him away
to the stable; he staggered like a man when he has drunk too long and
deeply. I swallowed a cup of coffee, mounted a little buckskin, and went
on, with Pochette's assurance, "Don't be afraid to put heem through,"
ringing in my ears. I was not afraid to put him through. That last
forty-eight miles I rode mercilessly--for the demon of hurry was again
urging me on. At ten o'clock I rolled stiffly off the buckskin at the
Osage station, walked more stiffly into the office, and asked for a
message. The operator handed me two, and looked at me with much
curiosity--but I suppose I was a sight. The first was to tell me that a
special would be ready at ten-thirty, and that the road would be cleared
for it. I had not thought about a special--Osage being so far from Frisco;
but Crawford was a wonder, and he had a long arm. My respect for Crawford
increased amazingly as I read that message, and I began at once to bully
the agent because the special was not ready at that minute to start. The
second message was a laconic statement that dad was still alive; I folded
it hur