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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Lord, he's breathin' through his back!" said Ten-Gallon. "He'll never live till we git him to the tent never in this world, Doc! I knew a feller that was knifed in the back one time till he breathed through his ribs that way, and he " "Never mind," said Slavens. "Take hold of him." Ten-Gallon's fire burned briskly, and the water boiled. Dr.
Inside the door four dusty troopers, on detached duty from the military post beyond Meander, sat playing cards. As they appeared to be fairly sober, Walker approached them with inquiries. No, they hadn't seen Dr. Slavens. Why? What had he done? Who wanted him? Explanations followed.
"It's comforting to know you haven't come for that," said she, ignoring his coarse reference to Slavens. "No; things change a good deal in four years' time, even sentiment and names." "But it wouldn't be asking too much to expect you to respect some of the changes?"
Slavens." The landlord looked at him sharply. "Oh, you're the feller that went off on a drunk, ain't you? I remember you now. Well, they didn't leave no grips here." "And no word either that I know of," added the woman. She swept Dr. Slavens with wondering eyes, for she had held a pretty good opinion of him before his sudden, and evidently heavy, fall.
People to whom that country was strange, and that included nearly all of them, looked to him for advice, and regarded with admiration and wonder his aptness in answering everything. Agnes was doubtful of the future, in spite of her big, brave talk to Dr. Slavens in the days before the drawing.
Smith said no more, but he kept turning his eye upon the doctor as he got his wagon ready to set off on his return, with a good deal of unfriendliness in it. Evidently it had come into his mind only then that Dr. Slavens was assuming a sort of proprietary air around Agnes. With his foot on the brake and his lines drawn up, Smith looked down and addressed her.
When she answered him she turned away until her face was hidden in the shadow. "I didn't carry your message to Dr. Slavens as you ordered, Jerry." "I know it," said he. "What next?" "I guess it's 'up to you, as you put it. I'm not going to try to save myself at the expense of any of my friends." Boyle got up.
"May I take a look around the tent to see if they left any written word for me there?" the doctor requested. "Go on," said the woman, a little softening of sympathy coming into her hard eyes. Dr. Slavens went back to the tent, which stood as it had been left that morning when the last of the party went away.
"Well, spit it out and have it over with!" snapped Slavens, feeling that there was something behind the man's actions to which he had not given words. "That was a purty good coat I left with you that night," suggested Shanklin, looking up without the slightest stirring of humor in his dry face. "You're welcome to it, if that's all," said Slavens. "That's all. I was kind of attached to that coat."
Slavens was in no mood for his sagging canvas cot, for his new enthusiasm was bounding through him as if he had been given an intravenous injection of nitroglycerin. There was Wyoming before him, all white and virginal and fresh, a big place for a big deed. Certainly, said Dr. Slavens. Just as if made to order for his needs.
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