Strangely wild thoughts were running now through Dean's brain. His cousin had been so long in that dreadful stupor, insensible even to the touch of those who had dressed his wounds and cooled his burning brain by applications to the spot where a blow from a club had struck him down. Was this the poor fellow's senses returning for a short time, before--? "I can't bear it," whispered Dean to himself. "Speak to me again just this once, Mark," he said aloud, "and then I want you to sleep. Both Buck and Dan say that sleep is the best thing for you now. I want you to tell me that you will get better." Mark made no answer. He was thinking. It was coming back more and more. "Oh, I know you are badly hurt," said Dean, at last. "I know how awful it all is, but Mark--Mark, old chap, don't--don't say anything to me; only tell me you are going to be better!" "I can't speak. I can't think. Don't talk to me. Go away." Dean uttered a groan of misery, and rising slowly he left his cousin to begin fighting once more against the confusion that oppressed his brain. And now as the poor fellow lay seeming to go backward into what was like so much mental darkness, he heard the gruff voices of the two men talking, and then his cousin's words sounding as if in appeal, while soon after Mark opened his eyes to find that somebody was leaning over him. But the sun had set, and it was growing too dark now for him to make out who it was. Then he knew. "Asleep, Mr Mark, sir?" "No, Dan. What does it all mean? Is it fever?--No, no, don't speak. I remember now. Hasn't there been a big fight?" "Yes, sir; horrid." "Did you get hurt?" "A bit pricked, sir." "With a spear?" said Mark sharply. "Yes, sir. One of the black thieves made a job at me." "But you are not hurt much?" "Quite enough, sir. But a hurt soon heals up. I want to know about you, sir." "Yes, yes; but tell me--what about Buck Denham?" "Got enough, sir, to make him horrid wild. But he don't mind much." "Ah!" said Mark quietly, as he fought hard with the difficulty of thinking. "Has the doctor seen him?" "No, sir," said the man hesitatingly. "But he ought to see him," continued Mark, "and you too. He knows so much about that sort of thing. Why doesn't he come and see me? There! There's that pain back again, as if I was burnt." "Yes, sir; it is nasty, of course. I have done all I knowed to it." "Thank you, Dan. What is it?" "Spear, sir. But it's quite clean; I saw to that. It's your head's the worst." "Yes," sighed Mark. "It's my head's the worst. Well, now go and tell the doctor to come." Dan was silent. "Did you hear what I said?" "Yes, sir," said the man, "but hadn't you better try and go to sleep?" "I have been trying for hours, Dan--ever since I lay down; and then as I couldn't I got out of the waggon and came to have a chat with you; and then--it wasn't you, because it was--because it was--is that you, Dan?"