A Desert Rose Belding assigned **** to a little room which had no windows but two doors, one opening into the patio, the other into the yard on the west side of the house. It contained only the barest necessities for comfort. **** mentioned the baggage he had left in the hotel at Casita, and it was Belding's opinion that to try to recover his property would be rather risky; on the moment Richard Gale was probably not popular with the Mexicans at Casita. So **** bade good-by to fine suits of clothes and linen with a feeling that, as he had said farewell to an idle and useless past, it was just as well not to have any old luxuries as reminders. As he possessed, however, not a thing save the clothes on his back, and not even a handkerchief, he expressed regret that he had come to Forlorn River a beggar.
"Beggar hell!" exploded Belding, with his eyes snapping in the lamplight. "Money's the last thing we think of out here. All the same, Gale, if you stick you'll be rich."
"It wouldn't surprise me," replied ****, thoughtfully. But he was not thinking of material wealth. Then, as he viewed his stained and torn shirt, he laughed and said "Belding, while I'm getting rich I'd like to have some respectable clothes."
"We've a little Mex store in town, and what you can't get there the women folks will make for you."
When **** lay down he was dully conscious of pain and headache, that he did not feel well. Despite this, and a mind thronging with memories and anticipations, he succumbed to weariness and soon fell asleep.
It was light when he awoke, but a strange brightness seen through what seemed blurred eyes. A moment passed before his mind worked clearly, and then he had to make an effort to think. He was dizzy.
When he essayed to lift his right arm, an excruciating pain made him desist. Then he discovered that his arm was badly swollen, and the hand had burst its bandages. The injured member was red, angry, inflamed, and twice its normal size. He felt hot all over, and a raging headache consumed him.
Belding came stamping into the room.
"Hello, ****. Do you know it's late? How's the busted fist this morning?"
**** tried to sit up, but his effort was a failure. He got about half up, then felt himself weakly sliding back.
"I guess--I'm pretty sick," he said.
He saw Belding lean over him, feel his face, and speak, and then everything seemed to drift, not into darkness, but into some region where he had dim perceptions of gray moving things, and of voices that were remote. Then there came an interval when all was blank.
He knew not whether it was one of minutes or hours, but after it he had a clearer mind. He slept, awakened during night-time, and slept again. When he again unclosed his eyes the room was sunny, and cool with a fragrant breeze that blew through the open door.
**** felt better; but he had no particular desire to move or talk or eat. He had, however, a burning thirst. Mrs. Belding visited him often; her husband came in several times, and once Nell slipped in noiselessly. Even this last event aroused no interest in ****.
On the next day he was very much improved.
"We've been afraid of blood poisoning," said Belding. "But my wife thinks the danger's past. You'll have to rest that arm for a while."
Ladd and Jim came peeping in at the door.
"Come in, boys. He can have company--the more the better--if it'll keep him content. He mustn't move, that's all."
The cowboys entered, slow, easy, cool, kind-voiced.
"Shore it's tough," said Ladd, after he had greeted ****. "You look used up."
Jim Lash wagged his half-bald, sunburned head, "Musta been more'n tough for Rojas."
"Gale, Laddy tells me one of our neighbors, fellow named Carter, is going to Casita," put in Belding. "Here's a chance to get word to your friend the soldier."
"Oh, that will be fine!" exclaimed ****. "I declare I'd forgotten Thorne....How is Miss Castaneda? I hope--"
"She's all right, Gale. Been up and around the patio for two days.
Like all the Spanish--the real thing--she's made of Damascus steel. We've been getting acquainted. She and Nell made friends at once. I'll call them in."
He closed the door leading out into the yard, explaining that he did not want to take chances of Mercedes's presence becoming known to neighbors. Then he went to the patio and called.
Both girls came in, Mercedes leading. Like Nell, she wore white, and she had a red rose in her hand. **** would scarcely have recognized anything about her except her eyes and the way she carried her little head, and her beauty burst upon him strange and anew. She was swift, impulsive in her movements to reach his side.
"Senor, I am so sorry you were ill--so happy you are better."
**** greeted her, offering his left hand, gravely apologizing for the fact that, owing to a late infirmity, he could not offer the right. Her smile exquisitely combined sympathy, gratitude, admiration. Then **** spoke to Nell, likewise offering his hand, which she took shyly. Her reply was a murmured, unintelligible one; but her eyes were glad, and the tine in her cheeks threatened to rival the hue of the rose she carried.
Everybody chatted then, except Nell, who had apparently lost her voice. Presently **** remembered to speak of the matter of getting news to Thorne.
"Senor, may I write to him? Will some one take a letter?...I shall hear from him!" she said; and her white hands emphasized her words.
"Assuredly. I guess poor Thorne is almost crazy. I'll write to him....No, I can't with this crippled hand."
"That'll be all right, Gale," said Belding. "Nell will write for you. She writes all my letters."
So Belding arranged it; and Mercedes flew away to her room to write, while Nell fetched pen and paper and seated herself beside Gale's bed to take his dictation.