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 the great fear that made his legs feel numb under his weight.

"She's gone after the doctor and"

"Doctor for whom?"

"Waco. They shot him. He did the best he could, poor man"

"Is he badly hurt?"

"In two places: one through the leg, one on the top of his head where they hit him. He didn't have a chance to more than grab his gun, they sneaked in so still. But they didn't know it was Waco till after they shot him, and that let him off with his life. They were lookin' for you."

"Where is he?"

"In by the stove. He'd bled so much, he was so cold"

She left him to guess what her fearful conclusions in Waco's case had been, opening the door softly for him to enter.

Waco was lying unconscious on a canvas cot near the kitchen stove. There were bandages and a bottle on a chair, a strong smell of turpentine in the room, that being the pioneer's invariable first remedy in the treatment of all kinds of wounds. He looked pretty far gone to Tom, who bent over him and felt for his heart. There was a spark of life in Waco, but it was very low.

They withdrew a little from the wounded man while Mrs. Ellison recounted the story of the vengeful visitation. She was more downcast and sorrowful over Waco's condition than her own loss, which had been considerable.

The thieves had driven off all the horses which Waco had assembled in the corral, eight or ten head, she was not