"What's wantin'?" replied the Indian from around the bend in the trail.
"Bring some water! Get some fresh water somewhere."
"I get you!" returned the cowboy, and then, without waiting another instant, Ruth stepped into the infected cabin and approached the sufferer's couch.
The sick man's head moved incessantly; so did his lips. Sometimes what he said was audible; oftener it was just a hoarse murmur. But when Ruth raised his head tenderly and took out the old coat to refold it for a pillow, he screamed aloud and seized the garment with both hands and with an awful strength! His look was maniacal. There were flecks of foam on his lips and his eyes rolled wildly. There was more than ordinary delirium in his appearance, and he fought for possession of the coat, shrieking in a cracked voice, the sound of which went straight to Ruth's heart.
The sound brought Jib on the run.
"What in all tarnation are you doing in that shack?" he shouted. "You come out o' there!"
"Oh, Jib," said she, as the man fell back speechless and seemingly lifeless on the bed. "We can't leave him alone like this."
"That whole place is infected. You come out!" the puncher commanded.
"There's no use scolding me now, Jib," she
