“I could not bear it in bed,” she said, clearly. Her brown eyes were beginning to shine with fever, and red spots had broken out in her pale cheeks. “If you make me go, I shall die. I hear it all the time when I am lying down—galloping, galloping, galloping. They never stop. They always begin all over again.” “What galloping, little girl?” asked Langford, soothingly. He saw she was becoming delirious. If Doc and Dick would only come before he had to go. But they were not coming until after dinner. He gazed down the dusty road. They would wait for him, the others. He was their leader by the natural-born right of push and energy, as well as by his having been the sole participant, with his own cowboys, in the last night’s tragedy. But would he do well to keep them waiting? They had already delayed too long. And yet how could he leave Williston’s little girl like this—even to find Williston? “They are carrying my father away,” she said, with startling distinctness. “Don’t you hear them? If you would listen, you could hear them. Do listen! They are getting faint now—you can hardly hear them. They are fainter—fainter—fainter—” She had raised her head. There was an alert look on her face. She leaned slightly toward the window. “Good God! A man can’t stand everything!” cried Langford, hoarsely. He tore the knotted handkerchief from his throat. It was as if he was choking. Then he put his cool, strong hand to her burning forehead and gently smoothed back the rough hair. Gradually, the fixed look of an indescribable horror passed away from her face. The strained, hard eyes softened, became dewy. She looked at him, a clinging helplessness in her eyes, but sweet and sane. “Don’t you worry, child,” he said, comfortingly. “They can’t help finding him. Twenty men with the sheriff start on the trail. There’ll be fifty before night. They can’t help finding him. I’m going to stay right here with you till Doc comes. I’ll catch up with them before they’ve gone far. I’ll send word to the boys not to wait. Must be somebody around the house, I reckon, besides the old lady.” He started cheerily for the door. “Mr. Langford!” “Yes?” “Please come back.” He came quickly to her. “What is it?” “Mr. Langford, will you grant me a favor?” “Certainly, Miss Mary. Anything in this world that I can do for you, I will do. You know that, don’t you?” “I am all right now. I don’t think I shall get crazy again if you will let me sit here by this window and look out. If I can watch for him, it will give me something to do. You see, I could be watching all the time for the party to come back over that little rise up the road. I want you to promise me,” she went on, steadily, “that I may sit here and wait for you—to come back.” “God knows you may, little girl, anyway till Doc comes.”