Ike picked up his reins, and the man spurred his horse off on his errand. The sheepman rode on and soon met the wagon being escorted by two more cowboys while a third rode at the side of the horses, leading them. They stopped as Ike rode up, eying him uncomfortably. But he merely nodded, with grim, set face, swung out of his saddle as they pulled up, and strode to the covered vehicle, drawing the canvas door open at the back. On the side bunk of the wagon where the cowboys had stretched him, wrapped in one of his blankets, lay the wounded man, his face, under the black beard, pale and writhen, the eyes staring glassily and the lips moving in the mutterings of what seemed to be delirium. Ike climbed into the wagon and bent over his employee, whose mutterings, as his glazing eyes fell on his master's face, became more rapid. But he talked in a language that neither Ike nor any of the men could understand. With a soothing word or two, Ike drew the blanket down from Pete's chest and looked at the great stain about the rude bandage which had been applied by the men who had found him. One glance was enough to show that Pete was in a bad way. "Lie still!" said Ike, kindly. "Keep your shirt on, Pete, and we'll git you outa this pretty soon." But Pete was excited about something and insisted on trying to talk, though the froth of blood on his lips indicated the folly of it. In vain Ike soothed him and implored him to rest. His black eyes snapped and his right hand made feeble motions toward the floor of the wagon where, on a pile of supplies and camp equipment, lay a burlap sack containing something lumpy and rough. "Zose sheep--and zose r-rock!" he whispered, shifting to English mixed with accented French. "_Pour vous--et le bébé! Le p'tit bébé_ an' she's _mère_--France--_or_----" "Never mind the sheep," said Ike. "You rough-lock your jaw, Pete, an' we'll take care o' the sheep. Lie still, now!" But Pete moaned and turned his head from side to side with his last strength. "_Mais--mais oui!_ ze sheep!" He again stuttered words meaningless to his hearers who, of course, had no Basque at command. But here and there were words of English and French, and even some Spanish, which most of them understood a little. "Ze r-rock--_pierre--or!_ Eet eez to you _et le bébé_ one half. Ze res' you send--you send heem--France--_pour ma femme--mi esposa_ an' ze leet-leetla one? _Mi padron_--you do heem?" "What's he drivin' at?" muttered one of the cowboys. But Ike motioned them to proceed and drive as fast as possible toward Willow Spring. He bent toward the agitated herder again. "I'll take care of it, Pete," he assured him. "Don't worry none."