When Miss Trenton returned to the world again, she was sitting in a strange room, with a rugged but kindly-faced man bending over her, glass in hand.
"Drink this, ma'am," he said. "It's good stuff, an' will put new life into you.
She obeyed, and the strong spirit--though it made her cough--sent the blood racing through her veins. She looked curiously at her surroundings.
"What place is this?" she asked.
"The Parlour Saloon an' I'm Ben Bowdyr, the proprietor," he explained. "Dan's gone for Doc Malachi, an' to git hisself another shirt."
"Is Mister Dover hurt?"
"Shore, no, just a spoilt garment," Ben assured her. "Ah, here's the Doc."
Malachi hurried in, the concern on his face giving way to relief when he saw the patient. "You are not harmed, Miss Trenton?"
"I foolishly fainted," she replied. "Mister Bowdyr kindly gave me some--medicine, and I am quite well again."
"Medicine?" Malachi echoed. He picked up the glass she had used, sniffed, glanced at the saloon-keeper, who had retired to his bar, and smiled whimsically. "Then Ben has done all that is necessary and robbed me of a case. And from the way Dover carried on, I really thought it was a serious one."
"It would have been but for his courage and prompt action," she said soberly. "He also escaped injury I am told."
"Yes, these cattlemen are tough animals--very discouraging to a doctor," he mourned. "Fortunately they are quarrelsome. But you have made a conquest, Miss Trenton." He saw the colour creep into her cheeks. "That brandy--I should say, medicine--was laid down by Ben's grandfather, 'way back in Virginia, in the days when people of position had cellars, and he wouldn't take fifty dollars a bottle for it."
Her gaze went to the saloon-keeper. "He was most kind," she murmured.
"The first thing I learned out here was not to judge by appearances. Ben is a fine fellow, and one day, when settlements like Rainbow become cities, such men will be sent to Congress, and have a word to say, not only in the affairs of our country, but of the whole world."
"Still your dream," she smiled. "Why, isn't that Yorky?" Malachi stared as the boy came to them. "By all that's wonderful, it is."
"I'm hopin' yer ain't hurt much, ma'am," Yorky said. "I seen it all an' shore t'ought yer was a goner."
"Thanks to Mister Dover, I am not a--goner," she smiled. "And how are you, Yorky?"
"Fine, an' I'm on th' pay-roll," he blurted out. "S'cuse me, I got a message for Ben."
"An amazing improvement," she said. "There's a case to make you proud of your profession."
"Not my work," he told her. "I prescribed a cessation of nicotine poisoning and fresh air--"
"The breath of the pines," she murmured.
"Precisely, but I didn't put it so prettily."
"No, I remember it was his friend, Jim."
"Really? After all, why shouldn't a puncher be poetical--he's at grips with Nature all day long. Anyway, Green saved that lad's life, by supplying the missing ingredient in my treatment." Her look was a question. "Yorky had lost his self-respect, and lacking that, my dear lady, a human being is--finished; he cannot fight disease." Then, in a flash, his gravity was merged in a laugh, as he added, "I should be a preacher."
She was about to reply when Dover came in, and before the door swung to again, she saw Miss Maitland pass.
"I must be going," Malachi said rather hurriedly, and ashe departed spoke in an undertone to the rancher, "Not leaving town yet, are you?"
"I'll be here for a while," Dan replied, and stepped to where the girl was seated. "Doc tells me you ain't injured. I'm glad. Is there anythin' else I can do?"
His manner was stiff and distant, and she suddenly comprehended that the red-haired youth who so impulsively rushed to rescue her from the quicksand had--short as the time was--become a man. Grief and responsibility had brought about the transformation.
"I think you have done enough, and more," she replied. "It is hard to find words to express my thanks."
"Then don't try," he said bluntly. "I don't want 'em, an' if it will ease yore mind, I would 'a' done just the same for any tramp in the town."
"Very well, but you cannot prevent me feeling grateful," she said. "you risked your life."
"Which is no more than I've done many times for one o' my father's steers," he told her. "I'm not meanin' to be rude, Miss Trenton, but to be forced to help one o' yore family is plain hell to me."
"I understand," she said coldly. "But you must remember that to be forced to accept your help is also plain hell to my family."
With a slight inclination of her proud little head, and a smile of thanks to the saloon-keeper, she walked out. The rancher's gloomy gaze followed her. What had possessed him to speak that way? He recalled how his heart had seemed to stop beating when he saw her in the path of the cattle. Perhaps it was the reaction at finding her unharmed when he had feared . Or maybe it was the encounter with the sheriff, which still rankled? Well, what did it matter--she was a Trenton anyway. He went to the bar, and Bowdyr's first remark might have been an answer to his last thought.
"She's a fine gal--even if she is kin to Zeb," he said.
"Looks ain't much to go on," the young man observed cynically. "The meanest hoss I ever owned was a picture."
The saloon-keeper, being a wise man, kept his smile and his thoughts to himself. Malachi, returning presently, found them drinking together, and to the surprise of both, declined their invitation.
"How's the arm?" he enquired.
"Fine, it was just a touch."
"Yes, touch and go; if you'd been two seconds later the horn would have pierced your heart," the doctor said. "I didn't tell Miss Trenton that."
"I'm obliged--she's over-grateful a'ready. You ain't here to ask after my health, are you, Phil?"
"No, my errand concerns my own. When are you going away?"
"So you've heard that damn silly rumour too?"
"I pay no attention to idle chatter, and get it into your head that I'm on your side," Malachi said seriously. "Listen: I happen to know--never mind how--that you have to raise a large sum of money in a short time."
Dan swore. "So my financial position is common property?" he said bitterly.
"Whose isn't, in this place?" was the rejoinder. "Where are you going for it? With the cattle business as it is, your chance with the Eastern capitalist is nil; north and south are only ranches in the same predicament as yourself; in the west, there is Rufe's Cache--if you can find it."
"What do you know about that?" Dan demanded.
"The story is common property also," the doctor reminded. "Your father himself gave me the facts, and asserted that if necessity arose, he could go to the spot. Probably that is why he did not worry about his debt to the bank."
Dan was silent; it was disturbing to think his affairs and plans were known. Then he said, "Who told you I was leavin' Rainbow?"
"No one. Aware of the difficulty you are in, I tried to reason out a line of action, that's all. The Cache would appear to be your best bet."
"What's yore interest?"
"The purely selfish one of wanting to go with you."
Bowdyr had been called away, so Dover got the full shock of the surprise, and it certainly was one. That this man, whom he liked, but had always regarded as an effeminate, should desire to undergo the danger and discomfort of a journey into the mountains seemed quite incredible.
"It'll be damned hard goin', we'll have to break trail a lot, live rough an' sleep in the open, an' it's cold too, nights," he warned. "Also, there's a risk o' fightin' if--
"Trenton gets the idea. Yes, he needs cash as much, and perhaps more, than you do. Well, I can ride and shoot, I'm fitter than I look, and I'll obey orders. Also, if anyone gets hurt ..." The rancher voiced his last and chief objection. "You'll be a devil of a long way from a saloon," he said pointedly.