“God!” groaned Snake under his breath; and McGregor dropped his head. Hilda wondered that they should be so dismayed. Surely it was good that father was not in pain. Uncle Hank got to his feet. The eyes that had gazed so fearfully at Charley went keenly round the circle of faces. If he saw Hilda, he made no sign; but there was a sharp scrutiny for the horse that looked over each man’s shoulder. “Jeff—Buster—” he muttered under his breath, with a wavering return of his glance to the injured man’s face—“No. Mex, is that pony of yours fresh?” “Yes, sir.” The slim, wiry cowpuncher put an eager hand up on his blue roan’s mane. “He’ll do whatever you ask of him.” Charley’s eyes had closed again. Hilda wanted very much to creep in closer to him, but dared not. Uncle Hank was doing everything. “Pull straight for Mesquite,” she heard him say to Mex. “Stop at the Lazy F for a fresh pony if that one gives out. You can get another at the Circle 99 company’s, if you need it. If Doc. Elder ain’t in Mesquite, nor anywhere in riding distance, and if anything’s the matter that you can’t get him, go on to El Centro for McClosky. Don’t come back without a doctor. Have you got money?” Hilda’s eyes followed the motions of Buster and Jeff who were pulling the saddles from two ponies and unfolding the blankets. She heard McGregor offer to attend to the money for Mex and see to the Three Sorrows cattle in the roundup. Uncle Hank thanked him, and stooped once more to her father. “Bring me them blankets now, boys,” he said. “That’s right—one over the other, that-away. Shorty—Jeff Allen—Bud McGregor,” they were laying the blankets on the ground close beside her father. Uncle Hank looked around. “Jim—where’s Jim Tazewell?” he asked. “Here, Jimmie; to this side. Kansas, you get acrost from him. Now, the six of you—slip your hands under him as far as you can and ease him onto the blankets.” They stooped, shouldering close. Hilda could see nothing but their backs. She felt a sick shutting-in at the heart as they lifted. Then came Uncle Hank’s voice again. “Did we hurt you, Charley?” They were placed now, three on a side, ready to take up the blanket. Hilda could see her father. His eyes were still closed, but his lips shaped themselves into an unheard “No.” Cautiously they stepped out on the mile trip to the ranch house. Hilda ran beside them, crouched a little, her hand out, not quite touching them. She moved like a young partridge, startled from cover, and out of her eyes fear looked. Over on the playground school was turning out. Thin and clear came the treble whoops, as soon as they had left the noise of the roundup sufficiently behind them. It was very strange to think that over there they didn’t know; for them it was prisoner’s base and the multiplication table, just as it had been this morning.