“Dopey, I’d say. I can rouse him, but it seemed best to let him be as quiet as possible. He had over an hour in the heat, and the joggling on the burro didn’t do him any good, I imagine.” Rawley hoped Uncle Peter would not think he was staring like an idiot, but he could not rid himself of the feeling that somewhere, some time, he had seen this man before. Uncle Peter bent and examined the wound. When he moved Johnny Buffalo a bit, the Indian opened his eyes and stared hard into his face. “My sergeant! I did not think to--” “Out of his head,” Rawley muttered uneasily. “It’s the first symptom of it he’s shown.” Johnny Buffalo muttered again, pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. After that he did not speak, or give any sign that he heard, though Uncle Peter was talking all the while he dressed the wound. “It’s going to take some time,” he said. “The bullet broke his shoulder blade, but if the lung is touched at all it was barely grazed. Nevada spoke of my taking him down the river to Needles, but it can’t be done. The engine in the launch is useless until I can get a new connecting rod and another part or two.” He stared down at Johnny Buffalo, frowning. “Well, from all accounts the two of you saved the women’s lives to-day,” he said, after a minute of studying over the situation. “Queo was after the grub, probably--and he’s no particular love for any of us. He undoubtedly knew who was coming down the trail--he may have watched them go up, just about daybreak. Common gratitude gives the orders, in this case. You can stay here until this man is well enough to ride, or until I can take you to Needles.” A little more of harshness and his tone would have been grudging. Rawley flushed at the implied reluctance of the offered hospitality. “It’s mighty good of you, but we don’t want to impose on any one,” he said stiffly. “If he can stay for a day or two, I can get out to Needles and bring up a boat of some kind. It’s the only thing I can think of--but I can make it in a couple of days.” The other turned and regarded him much as Nevada had first done, with a mixture of defiance and pride. His jaw squared, the lines beside his mouth grew more bitter. “We may be breeds--but we aren’t brutes,” he said harshly. “You’ll stay where you are and take care of your partner. The burden of nursing him can’t fall on the women.” He stopped and seemed debating something within himself. “We’ve no reason to open our arms to outsiders,” he added finally. “If folks let us alone, we let them alone--and glad to do it. Father’s touchy about having strangers in camp. But all rules must be broken once, they say.” “I think you’re over-sensitive,” Rawley told him bluntly. “You’re self-conscious over something no one else would think of twice. It’s--”