Totally exhausted, the two men dropped their heavy burden on the earth.
Mason swore as the blood began dripping again from his wound, which had
been torn open afresh in his efforts to bear Hampton to safety. Just
below them a mounted trooper caught sight of them and came forward. He
failed to recognize his officer in the begrimed person before him,
until called to attention by the voice of command.
"Sims, if there is any water in your canteen hand it over. Good; here,
Marshal, use this. Now, Sims, note what I say carefully, and don't
waste a minute. Tell the first sergeant to send a file of men up here
with some sort of litter, on the run. Then you ride to the Herndon
house--the yellow house where the roads fork, you remember,--and tell
Miss Naida Gillis (don't forget the name) that Mr. Hampton has been
seriously wounded, and we are taking him to the hotel. Can you
remember that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then off with you, and don't spare the horse."
He was gone instantly, and Brant began bathing the pallid, upturned
face.
"You'd better lie down, Marshal," he commanded. "You're pretty weak
from loss of blood, and I can do all there is to be done until those
fellows get here."
In fifteen minutes they appeared, and five minutes later they were
toiling slowly down to the valley, Brant walking beside his still
unconscious rival. Squads of troopers were scattered along the base of
the hill, and grouped in front of the hotel. Here and there down the
street, but especially about the steps of the Occidental, were gathered
the discomfited vigilantes, busily discussing the affair, and cursing
the watchful, silent guard. As these caught sight of the little party
approaching, there were shouts of derision, which swelled into triumph
when they perceived Hampton's apparently lifeless form, and Mason
leaning in weakness on the arm of a trooper. The sight and sound
angered Brant.
"Carry Hampton to his room and summon medical attendance at once," he
ordered. "I have a word to say to those fellows."
Seeing Mr. Wynkoop on the hotel porch, Brant said to him: "Miss Spencer
informed me that you saw a man leap from the back window of the
Occidental. Is that true?"
The missionary nodded.
"Good; then come along with me. I intend breaking the back of this
lynching business right here and now."
He strode directly across the street to the steps of the Occidental,
his clothing scarcely more than smouldering rags. The crowd stared at
him sullenly; then suddenly a reaction came, and the American spirit of
fair play, the frontier appreciation of bulldog courage, burst forth
into a confused murmur, that became half a cheer. Brant did not mince
his words.