so I dismissed fear and went to Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy.

"Poor boy," she said, "he has a broken thigh and he's hurt inside. His
belly is knocked into a cocked-hat. We will pull him through. A man
has already gone back to Newfork to get an automobile. They will take
him to Rock Springs to the hospital in the morning."

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and the girl were doing all that could be done;
they sent me back to care for the children. To keep warm I crawled
under the blankets, but not to sleep. It didn't seem to me that I
could _ever_ sleep again. I could hear the men talking in subdued
tones. The boss was dispatching men to different places. Presently I
saw some men take a lantern and move off toward the valley. I could
see the light twinkling in and out among the sage-brush. They stopped.
I could see forms pass before the light. I wondered what could be the
matter. The horses were all safe; even Boy, Mr. Haynes's dog, was
safe, shivering and whining on his master's blankets. I could plainly
hear the hiccoughs of the wounded man: the click-cluck, click-cluck,
kept on with maddening persistence, but at last his nurses forced
enough hot water down him to cause vomiting. The blood-clots came and
the poor fellow fell asleep. A lantern was hung upon the wagon and the
two women went into the coaster to make some coffee.

It was three o'clock in the morning when the men of our outfit came
back. They put on their heavy coats and were seeing to their horses. I
asked Clyde what was the matter.

"Hush," he said; "lie still. It is Olaf."

"But I want to help," I said.

"You can't help. It's--all over," he replied as he started again to
where the lantern was gleaming like a star fallen among the sage.

I tucked the children in a little more snugly, then went over to the
coaster.

"Won't you come to bed and rest?" I asked Mrs. O'Shaughnessy.

"No, I'll not. Are me children covered and warm?"

"Yes," I answered.

"What are them fellys pow-wowing about down in the sage?"

"Olaf is dead," I said.

"Who says God is not merciful? Now all the poor felly's troubles are
done with. 'Twas him that caused the stampede, mayhap. God send him
peace. I am glad. He will never be hungry nor cold any more."

"Yes," said the girl; speaking slowly. "I am glad, too. He almost
lived in this draw. We saw him every trip and he _did_ suffer. Dad
left a little for him to eat and whatever he could to wear every trip.
The sheep-herders helped him, too.