The Sheriff's Son
little bunch of cows that beat the world's records for fecundity.
It was not exactly the place Dingwell would have chosen to go into hiding, but he had to take what he could get. Roy, completely exhausted, was already showing a fever. He could not possibly travel farther.
With the casual confidence that was one of his assets Dave swung from his horse and greeted the ranchman.
"’Lo, Hart! Can we roost here to-night? My friend got thrown and hurt his shoulder. He's all in."
The suspicious eyes of the nester passed over Beaudry and came back to Dingwell.
"I reckon so," he said, not very graciously. "We 're not fixed for company, but if you 'll put up with what we 've got—"
"Suits us fine. My friend's name is Beaudry. I 'll get him right to bed."
Roy stayed in bed for forty-eight hours. His wound was only a slight one and the fever soon subsided. The third day he was sunning himself on the porch. Dave had gone on a little jaunt to a water-hole to shoot hooters for supper. Mrs. Hart was baking bread inside. Her husband had left before daybreak and was not
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