“Stop that infernal noise!” Hoag commanded. “Hain't you got an ounce o' sense? The baby's sick an' you'll wake 'im. Whar 've you been?” “Over at John Wells's house,” the boy replied. “Tobe is going off to Texas, and everybody was saying good-by.” “I'll believe that when I have to,” Hoag growled. “I can smell liquor on you now. You fairly stink with it.” “'Twasn't nothing but an eggnog Mrs. Wells made,” the boy said, slowly, studying the face before him. “Well, you go on to bed,” Hoag ordered. “An' don't you make a bit o' noise goin' in, either. Don't wake that child.” “I ain't agoin' to wake 'im,” Henry answered, as he turned away. “I'm sorry he's sick. Can I see him?” “No, you can't! Go to bed an' let 'im alone.” When his son had disappeared into the house Hoag stood for a moment staring at the light which filtered through the green blinds of his wife's room, and then, hearing the beating of hoofs on the road, he moved on to the gate with an eager, tentative step. “That's the doctor now,” he thought. “What the hell's he creepin' along like a snail for when we've been waitin'--” But the horse had stopped in the shadow of the barn, and Hoag saw the rider still in the saddle leaning sideways and peering at him. “What's the matter, Doc?” Hoag called out. “Want me to hitch yo' hoss?” “It hain't the doctor--it's me, Cap. Anybody in sight--road clear?” An oath of combined surprise and disappointment escaped Hoag's tense lips. It was Trawley, and for the first time since he had parted with the man that afternoon he recalled his appointment. He said nothing, but opened the gate, passed out, and went along the fence to the horse and rider. “I come by to report.” Trawley threw a leg over the rump of his steaming horse and stood down on the ground. “Met Paul Rundel in town searchin' high an' low for you, an' heard your baby was purty bad off, so when I met the boys--eighty odd--an' we'd waited as long as we possibly could, I explained to 'em and took command, an' we went on; we just had to--time was powerful short, you know. We rode fast, goin' an' comin'.” Trawley ceased speaking and looked at his chief in slow astonishment, for Hoag was blankly staring at the ground. “My God, Cap, the little chap hain't--dead, is he?” “No, no, not yet--not yet,” Hoag muttered; “but he may be before mornin'.”