to me?"

He could not so much as lift his eyelids, but his breathing deepened,
and with that sign of returning vitality Fan was forced to be content.
She was perfectly composed now, and helped to bathe his crushed and
bleeding head and his broken shoulder with a calmness very impressive to
all those who were permitted to glance within the room.

Slowly the guests departed. The cowboys, low-voiced and funereal of
mien, rode away in groups of three or four.

The doctor came hurrying down the slope about ten of the morning, his
small roan mustang galloping, his case of instruments between his feet.
He was very young, and, luckily, very self-confident, and took charge of
"the case" with thrilling authority.

"The coma was induced," he explained, "by the concussion of the brain.
The shoulder is also badly contused and the collar-bone broken, but if
brain fever does not set in the man will live. The treatment so far as
it has gone is admirable."

Compton returned with him, or a little before him, and seemed to be
waiting for arrest. He was a lean, brown young fellow with good, gray
eyes and a shapely nose. "Yes, I threw the rope," he confessed to every
one. "It was all in fun, but he shot my horse, and as he reared up he
jerked the people out of the buggy. I guess the broncos jumped ahead at
the same time. But it was my fault. I had no business to rope 'em. In
fact, we had no business chasing 'em up at all."

At last Blondell gruffly told him to go home. "If the man dies we'll
come after you," he added, with blunt ferocity.

"All right," responded the young fellow, with lofty spirit. "I'll be
there--but I want to see Fan a moment before I leave. I want to know if
there is anything I can do for her or him."

Blondell was for refusing this utterly, but his wife said: "You didn't
mean nothing, Link--I'm sure of that--and I've always liked you, and so
has Fan. She won't lay it up against you, I know. I'll tell her you're
here."

Fan, sitting beside Lester's bed, turned at her mother's word and saw
the young fellow standing in the doorway in mute appeal. Her glance was
without anger, but it was cold and distant. She shook her head, and the
young rancher turned away, shaken with sobs. That look was worse than
her curse had been.

* * * * *

From the dim, grim region of his delirium and his deathlike
unconsciousness George Lester struggled slowly back to life. His
reawakening was like a