“But they’s a hundred Kates in the range,” said Sam.  “Has he said her last name, Buck, or has he given you any way of findin’ out where she lives?”

“There ain’t no way,” brooded Buck, “except that when he talks about her sometimes he speaks of Lee Haines like he wanted to kill him.  Sometimes he’s dreamin’ of havin’ Lee by the throat.  D’you honest think that havin’ the girl here would do any good, ma?”

“Of course it would,” she answered.  “He’s in love, that poor boy is, an’ love is worse than bullets for some men.  I don’t mean you or Sam.  Lord knows you wouldn’t bother yourselves none about a woman.”

Her eyes challenged them.

“He talks about Lee havin’ the girl?” asked Sam.

“He sure does,” said Buck, “which shows that he’s jest ravin’.  How could Lee have the girl, him bein’ in jail at Elkhead?”

“But maybe Lee had her before Whistlin’ Dan got him at Morris’s place.  Maybe she’s up to Silent’s camp now.”

“A girl in Jim Silent’s camp?” repeated Buck scornfully.  “Jim’d as soon have a ton of lead hangin’ on his shoulders.”

“Would he though?” broke in Mrs. Daniels.  “You’re considerable young, Buck, to be sayin’ what men’ll do where they’s women concerned.  Where is this camp?”

“I dunno,” said Buck evasively.  “Maybe up in the hills.  Maybe at the old Salton place.  If I thought she was there, I’d risk goin’ up and gettin’ her—­with her leave or without it!”

“Don’t be talkin’ fool stuff like that,” said his mother anxiously.  “You ain’t goin’ near Jim Silent agin, Buck!”

He shrugged his shoulders, with a scowl, and turned away to go back to the bedside of Whistling Dan.

In the morning Buck was hardly less haggard than Dan.  His mother, with clasped hands and an anxious face, stood at the foot of the bed, but her trouble was more for her son than for Dan.  Old Sam was out saddling Buck’s horse, for they had decided that the doctor must be brought from Elkhead at once.

“I don’t like to leave him,” growled Buck.  “I misdoubt what may be happenin’ while I’m gone.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” said his mother.  “Why, Buck, a body would think that if he dies while you’re gone you’ll accuse your father an’ mother of murder.”

“Don’t be no minute away from him,” urged Buck, “that’s all I ask.”

“Cure his brain,” said his mother monotonously, “an’ his body’ll take care of itself.  Who’s that talkin’ with your dad outside?”

Very faintly they caught the sound of voices, and after a moment the departing clatter of a galloping horse.  Old Sam ran into the house breathless.

“Who was it?  What’s the matter, pa?” asked his wife, for the old cowpuncher’s face was pale even through his tan.

“Young Seaton was jest here.  He an’ a hundred other fellers is combin’ the range an’ warnin’ everyone agin that Dan Barry.  The bullet in his shoulder—­he got it while he was breaking jail with Lee Haines.  An’ he shot down the hosses of two men an’ his dog pulled down a third one.”