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"Not a symptom of mountain fever," continued Bucks calmly; "you have what looks to me like gastritis, but the homeopaths," he added, "have a better name for it. Is it stomatitis, McCloud? I forget." The sick man, confounded by such learning, determined to try one question, and, if he was at fault, to drag his gun from under his pillow and sell his life as dearly as possible.
Or we can stick a few hydraulic jacks under the sills, raise the house, and push your bed right on the observation platform." He got McCloud to laughing, and lighted a fresh cigar. A framed photograph hung on one of the bare walls of the room, and it caught the eye of the railroad man. He walked close to it, disinfected it with smoke, brushed the dust from the glass, and examined the print.
"What can you do with him?" "I'll have the men put him in the caboose and send him to Barnhardt's hospital at Medicine Bend when the engine comes back. He may live yet. If he does, he can thank you for it." GEORGE McCLOUD McCloud was an exception to every tradition that goes to make up a mountain railroad man. He was from New England, with a mild voice and a hand that roughened very slowly.
Whispering Smith, listening, said nothing for some time, but once she laughed peculiarly. He pricked up his ears. "What has been happening since I left town?" "What do you mean?" asked Marion Sinclair. He nodded toward the porch. "McCloud and Dicksie out there. They have been fixing things up." "Nonsense! What do you mean?" "I mean they are engaged." "Never in the world!"
What was Peter God, the half-wild fox-hunter, to Josephine McCloud? Yes he could be but that one thing! A brother. A black sheep. A wanderer. A son who had disappeared and was now found. But if he was that, only that, why would they not tell him? The doubt sputtered up again. Philip did not go to bed. He was anxious for the day, and the evening that was to follow. A woman had unsettled his world.
The stormy interview with Callahan and Blood at the Wickiup had taken place just a week before, and McCloud, after what Sinclair had then threatened, though not prepared, felt as he saw him that anything might occur. McCloud being in possession of the little room, however, the initiative fell on Sinclair, who, looking his best, snatched his hat from his head and bowed ironically.
The sun came out bright and clear a little later, and I got McCloud out of his bed and gave him a seat at the ship's side where he could see the green grassy hills near the beach, and larger hills and mountains farther back.
One thing I ask you to do. Don't expose yourself at night. Your life isn't worth a coupling-pin if you do." McCloud raised his hand. "Take care of yourself. If you are murdered in this fight I shall know I got you in and that I am to blame." "And suppose you were?" Smith had risen from his chair.
On the morning of the third day Dicksie Dunning, who had gone home from Medicine Bend and who had been telephoning Marion and George McCloud two days for news, was trying to get Medicine Bend again on the telephone when Puss came in to say that a man at the kitchen door wanted to see her. "Who is it, Puss?" "I d'no, Miss Dicksie; 'deed, I never seen him b'fore."
Burn up everything; that's orders. If you can get a few rails here, now, I'll give you a track by sundown, Mr. McCloud, in spite of Sinclair and the devil." The remains of many cars lay in heaps along the curve, and the trackmen like firebugs ran in and out of them. A tongue of flame leaped from the middle of a pile of stock cars.
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