Billy Duncan was in a bad way, so it was reported to the men upon the
works, and the men to show their sympathy and liking for the
fair-haired, happy-go-lucky Billy Duncan made up a purse of $90 and sent
it to him by Dan Treu, the big deputy-sheriff, who also was Billy
Duncan's friend.
"It'll buy fruit for the kid, something to read, and a special nurse if
he needs one," they told the deputy and they gave the money with the
warmest of good wishes.
Dan Treu took their gift to the hospital, and Billy Duncan burst into
tears when he saw him.
"Oh, come, come! Buck up, Billy, you're goin' to pull through all
right."
"Dan! Dan! Take me out of here--take me away! Quick!"
The deputy looked his surprise.
"What's the matter, Billy? What's wrong?"
"Everything's wrong, Dan, everything!" His voice was shrill in his
weakness. "I'm goin' to croak if you don't get me out of here!"
Dan Treu bent over him and patted his shoulder as he would have
comforted a child.
"There, there, don't talk like that, Billy. You're not goin' to croak.
You're a little down in the mouth, that's all." He glanced around the
tiny room. "It looks clean and comfortable here; you're lucky to have a
place like this to go to and Doc's a blamed good fellow. She'll pull you
through."
"But she ain't, Dan--she ain't anything that we thought. Lay here sick
if you want to find her out. She thinks we don't count, us fellows on
the works, and Lamb's no better, only he's more sneakin'--he hasn't her
gall." He searched the deputy's face for a moment then cried pitifully,
"You don't believe me, Dan. You think I'm sore about something and
stretchin' the truth. It's so, Dan--I tell you they left me here the
night I was brought in until the next forenoon without touchin' my arm.
They've never half cleaned the hole out. It's swelled to the shoulder
and little pieces of my shirt keep sloughing out. Any cowpuncher with a
jack-knife could do a better job than they have done. They don't know
how, Dan, and what's worse they don't care!"