"Nothing--only----" Mrs. Van's usually glib tongue faltered. "I was just going to say that you mustn't take Marc Scott too--too--I mean, you mustn't be too hard on him." "Hard!" "Yes. It's just his way; he don't mean to be ugly. He's queer, Scotty is, kind of--oh, I don't know how to put it, but he didn't mean to be rude to you." "He was, though, very rude." "Yes, that's what I mean. It sort of shocked him to think you'd do a thing like that and he didn't stop to think." "Maybe he'll stop to think next time." "Maybe, but I don't reckon so. Folks like that you can't change much; you have to take 'em or leave 'em as they are. He's awful square, though. I'd trust him with anything; money, liquor, or women. When you've been around as much as I have, you'll know that means something." In the meantime, Scott, Hard, and the train gang, going down to the corral to investigate, found Miller lying as Pachuca had left him, in the middle of the road. He was regaining consciousness as they came along, and did not seem to be badly hurt, the knife having entered the fleshy part of the arm near the shoulder. "Serves me damn right, bein' so slow with my gun," he said. "I suppose the guy got away?" "Oh, yes, he got away!" muttered Scott, as they helped Miller to bed. "That's the kind of luck we're playing in just now around here." Breakfast next morning was not a particularly cheerful meal. Adams was still in bed, and Williams was feverish and cross. Miller seemed little the worse for his accident, but he was blue; he had been particularly attached to the dog and felt its death more than his own misadventure. "Blankets, canned goods, saddles--everything they could grab," muttered Williams, resentfully. "Nice condition to be in with a revolution looming." "Not looming, loomed," said O'Grady, cheerfully. "Wish I could get hold of an _Omaha Bee_," murmured Johnson. "I never somehow feel like I had a grip on a situation till I've seen my home paper." "I think I'll ride over to Casa Grande this morning and get the doctor," said Hard. "That leg of Jimmy's needs advice." "I'll go with you." Scott looked at Polly. "Want to go?" he said; then as she hesitated, he looked at her penitently, smiling as Scott did not often smile, and whispered: "Please do!" "How mean of him! He knows I'm dying to. How's anybody going to stay mad when they want to do things?" said the girl to herself. "It's too far for her," objected Mrs. Van. "We'll send the Chink back," said Scott, persuasively, "and we'll stay all night with Herrick. We'll make him play for you," he added, as Polly smiled in spite of herself. "Will you go?" "She must," said Hard. "It's her last chance to see the country." And so the matter was settled. "That Chink'll ride the whole twenty miles on a dead run--he'll be here to dinner," said Matt. "Ever see a Chinaman ride?" "He'll ride his own horse, then," replied Scott, as he left the room. "Perhaps we'll bring Herrick back with us, Mrs. Van."