Get goin' where
you're goin', Lawler!"
Shorty had not told Lawler all he knew of the wound in Lawler's
shoulder. He knew that Lawler had lost much blood, and that he was
losing more constantly; and that nothing but the man's implacable
courage was keeping him up. And he did not intend to desert him.
Lawler laughed. But he said nothing as he urged Red King over the
Willets trail, riding at a fair pace, not so steady in the saddle as he
had been. His face was chalk white, but there was a set to his lips and
a glow in his eyes that told Shorty there was no use in arguing.
Shorty permitted Lawler to hold the lead he had taken when they reached
the Willets' trail. But Shorty kept a vigilant eye upon the big horse
and his rider as they went over the plains toward town. Twice Shorty saw
Lawler reel in the saddle, and both times Shorty urged his horse forward
to be close to him when he fell. But each time Lawler stiffened and rode
onward--silent, grimly determined, with Shorty riding behind him,
watching him with awed admiration.
Lawler had not mentioned the purpose of his ride to town, and Shorty was
lost in a maze of futile conjecture. Shorty knew, however, that a man in
Lawler's condition would not ride to town to gratify a whim; and the
longer he watched Lawler the deeper became his conviction that another
tragedy was imminent.
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