Soon she saw that her efforts were to be of little avail. Rope lay pitifully slack and unresponsive. At the end of an hour's work Ferguson bent over her with a question on his lips. "Do you reckon he'll come around, ma'am?" She shook her head negatively. "The bullet has lodged somewhere--possibly in the lung," she returned. "It entered just above the heart, and he has bled much--internally. He may never regain consciousness." Ferguson's face paled with a sudden anger. "In that case, ma'am, we'll never know who shot him," he said slowly. "An' I'm wantin' to know that. Couldn't you fetch him to, ma'am--just long enough so's I could ask him?" She looked up with a slow glance. "I can try," she said. "Is there any more whiskey in your flask?" He produced the flask, and they both bent over Rope, forcing a generous portion of the liquor down his throat. Then, alternately bathing the wound and his forehead, they watched. They were rewarded presently by a faint flicker of the eyelids and a slow flow of color in the pale cheeks. Then after a little the eyes opened. In an instant Ferguson's lips were close to Rope's ear. "Who shot you, Rope, old man?" he asked eagerly. "You don't need to be afraid to tell me, it's Ferguson." The wounded man's eyes were glazed with a dull incomprehension. But slowly, as though at last he was faintly conscious of the significance of the question, his eyes glinted with the steady light of returning reason. Suddenly he smiled, his lips opening slightly. Both watchers leaned tensely forward to catch the low words. "Ferguson told me to look out," he mumbled. "He told me to be careful that they didn't get me between them. But I wasn't thinkin' it would happen just that way." And now his eyes opened scornfully and he struggled and lifted himself upon one arm, gazing at some imaginary object. "Why," he said slowly and distinctly, his voice cold and metallic, "you're a hell of a range boss! Why you----!" he broke off suddenly, his eyes fixed full upon Miss Radford. "Why, it's a woman! An' I thought---- Why, ma'am," he went on, apologetically, "I didn't know you was there! . . . But you ain't goin' to run off no calf while I'm lookin' at you. Shucks! Won't the Ol' Man be some surprised to know that Tucson an'----" He shuddered spasmodically and sat erect with a great effort. "You've got me, damn you!" he sneered. "But you won't never get anyone----" He swung his right hand over his head, as though the hand held a pistol. But the arm suddenly dropped, he shuddered again, and sank slowly back--his eyes wide and staring, but unseeing. Ferguson looked sharply at Miss Radford, who was suddenly bending over the prostrate man, her head on his breast. She arose after a little, tears starting to her eyes. "He has gone," she said slowly. CHAPTER XV A FREE HAND