His glance moved, touched the unconscious man at his feet, then lifting
met hers. Eye held eye. In each a spark leaped, ran to meet its
opposing spark and flashed into union.
When she looked down again the group of figures was dim. Their talk came
vaguely to her, like the talk of men in a dream. David was explaining.
Daddy John made a grimace at him which was a caution to silence. The
doctor had not heard and was not to hear the epithet that had been
applied to his daughter.
"He's sun mad," the old man said. "Half crazy. I've seen 'em go that
way before. How'll he get through the desert I'm asking you?"
There were some contusions on the head that looked bad, the doctor said,
but nothing seemed to be broken. He'd been half strangled; they'd have
to get him into the wagon.
"Leave him at Fort Bridger," came Courant's voice through the haze.
"Leave him there to rot."
The doctor answered in the cold tones of authority:
"We'll take him with us as we agreed in the beginning. Because he
happens not to be able to stand it, it's not for us to abandon him. It's
a physical matter--sun and hard work and irritated nerves.
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