Ruth had the old coat folded and under the sick man's head again when
Jib returned with a rusty old bucket filled with water. He set it down
just outside the open door of the cabin--and he did not come in.
"What d'ye s'pose he's got in the pocket of that coat that he's so
choice of, Miss?" he asked, curiously.
"Why! I don't know," returned Ruth, wetting her cleanest handkerchief
and folding it to press upon the patient's brow.
"He hollered like a loon and grabbed at it when I tried to straighten it
out," the Indian said, thoughtfully. "And so he did when you touched
it."
"Yes."
"He's got something hid there. It bothers him even if he is delirious."
"Perhaps," admitted Ruth.
But she was not interested in this suspicion. The condition of the poor
fellow was uppermost in her mind.
"You let me have your pistol, Jib," she said. "I can use it. It will
keep that old coyote away."
"And anything else, too," said Jib, handing the gun to her and then
stepping back to his pony. "I'll hobble your critter, Miss. Don't go far
from the door. I'll either come back myself or send a couple of the boys
from camp. They will bring food, anyway. I reckon the poor chap's hungry
as well as thirsty."
"He is in a very bad way, indeed," returned Ruth, gravely. "You'll
hurry, Jib?"
"Sure. But you'd better come back with me."
"No. I'm in for it now," she replied, trying to smile at him bravely.
"I'd better nurse him till he's better, or----"
"You ain't got no call to do it!" exclaimed the Indian.
"There is more reason for my helping him than you know," she said, in a
low voice. "Oh! there is a very good reason for my helping him."
"He's too far gone to be helped much, I reckon," returned the other,
mounting into his saddle. "But I'll be going. Take care of yourself."
"I'll be all right, Jib!" she responded, with more cheerfulness, and
waved her hand to him as the cow puncher rode away.
But when the patter of the pony's hoofs had died away the silence
brooding over the abandoned mining camp seemed very oppressive indeed.
It was not a pleasant prospect that lay before her. Not only was she
alone here with the sick man, but she _was_ afraid of catching the
fever.
The patient on the couch was indeed helpless. He muttered and rolled his
head from side to side, and his wild eyes stared at her as though he
were fearful of what she might do to him. Ruth bathed his face and hands
again and again; and the cool water seemed to quiet him. Occasionally
she raised his head that he might drink. There was nothing else she
could do for his comfort or betterment until medicines arrived.
She searched the cabin for anything which might belong to him. She did
not find his rifle--the weapon with which he had killed the bear in the
canyon when Ruth had been in such peril. She did find, however, a worn
water-proof knapsack; in it was a handkerchief, or two, a pair of torn
socks and an old shirt, beside shaving materials, a comb and brush, and
a toothbrush. Not a letter or a scrap of paper to reveal his identity.
Yet she was confident that this was the man whom she had hoped to meet
when she came West on this summer jaunt.
This was the fellow who had encouraged Uncle Jabez to invest his savings
in the Tintacker Mine. It was he, too, who had been to Bullhide and
recorded the new papers relating to the claim. And if he had made way
with all Uncle Jabez's money, and the mining property was worthless,
Ruth knew that she would never see Briarwood Hall again!
For Uncle Jabez had let her understand plainly that his resources were
so crippled that she could not hope to return to school with her friends
when the next term opened. Neither she, nor Aunt Alvirah, nor anybody
else, could make the old miller change his mind. He had given her one
year at the boarding school according to agreement. Uncle Jabez always
did just as he said he would; but he was never generous, and seldom even
kind.
However, it was not this phase of the affair that so troubled the girl
from the Red Mill. It was the identity of this fever-stricken man that
so greatly disturbed her. She believed that there was somebody at Silver
Ranch who must have a much deeper interest in him than even she felt.
And she was deeply troubled by this suspicion. Was she doing right in
not sending word to the ranch at once as to her belief in the identity
of the man?
The morning was now gone and Ruth would have been glad of some dinner;
but in leaving the other herders she and Jib had not expected to remain
so many hours from the Rolling River crossing. At least, they expected
if they found the man at Tintacker at all, that he would have played the
host and supplied them with lunch. Had Jib been here she knew he could
easily have shot a bird, or a hare; there was plenty of small game
about. But had she not felt it necessary to remain in close attendance
upon the sick man she would have hesitated about going to the outskirts
of the camp. Even the possession of Jib's loaded pistol did not make the
girl feel any too brave.
Already that morning she had been a witness to the fact that savage
beasts lurked in the locality. There might be another puma about. She
was not positively in fear of the coyotes; she knew them to be a
cowardly clan. But what would keep a bear from wandering down from the
heights into the abandoned camp? And Ruth had seen quite all the bears
at close quarters that she wished to see. Beside, this six-shooter of
Jib's would be a poor weapon with which to attack a full-grown bear.
It must be late in the afternoon before any of the boys could ride over
from the Rolling River outfit. She set her mind firmly on _that_, and
would not hope for company till then. It was a lonely and trying watch.
The sick man moaned and jabbered, and whenever she touched the old coat
he used for a pillow, he became quite frantic. Perhaps, as Jib
intimated, there was something valuable hidden in the garment.
"Deeds--or money--perhaps both," thought the girl nurse. "And maybe they
relate to the Tintacker Mine. Perhaps if it is money it is some of
Uncle's money. Should I try to take it away from him secretly and keep
it until he can explain?"
Yet she could not help from thinking that perhaps Jib was right in his
diagnosis of the case. The man might be too far gone to save. Neither
physician nor medicines might be able to retard the fever. It seemed to
have already worn the unfortunate to his very skeleton. If he died,
would the mystery of the Tintacker Mine, and of Uncle Jabez's money,
ever be explained?
Meanwhile she bathed and bathed again the fevered face and hands of the
unfortunate. This was all that relieved him. He was quiet for some
minutes after each of these attentions. The water in the bucket became
warm, like that in the canteen. Ruth thought she could risk going to the
rivulet for another supply. So she stuck the barrel of the gun into her
belt and taking the empty pail set out to find the stream.
She closed the door of the sick man's cabin very carefully. It was not
far to the water and she had filled the pail and was returning when she
heard a scratching noise nearby, and then a low growl. Casting swift
glances of apprehension all about her, she started to run to the cabin;
but when she got to the trail, it was at the cabin door the peril lay!
It was no harmless, cowardly coyote this time. Perhaps it had not been a
coyote who had dug there when she and Jib rode up to the camp. She
obtained this time a clear view of the beast.
It was long, lean and gray. A shaggy beast, with pointed ears and a long
muzzle. When he turned and glared at her, growling savagely, Ruth was
held spellbound in her tracks!
"A wolf!" she muttered. "A wolf at the door!"
The fangs of the beast were exposed. The jaws dripped saliva, and the
eyes seemed blood-red. A more awful sight the girl had never seen. This
fierce, hungry creature was even more terrifying in appearance than the
bear that had chased her in the canyon. He seemed, indeed, more savage
and threatening than the puma that Jib had roped that forenoon as they
rode over to Tintacker.
He turned squarely and faced her. He was not afraid, but seemed to
welcome her as an antagonist worthy of his prowess. He did not advance,
but he stood between Ruth and the door of the sick man's cabin. She
might retreat, but in so doing she would abandon the unfortunate to his
fate. And what that fate would be she could not doubt when once she had
glimpsed the savage aspect of the wolf.