It was the first direct reference he had made to the story, and Mary waited expectantly for him to go on.

“Don’t you worry, little pard,” he said, after a pause.  “I’ve known all along how you felt about me.  But I’m not knocked quite out of the game, even if I am such a wreck.  I felt so until I had that talk with Lupe, as if there was no use of my cumbering the ground any longer.  But I found out a lot from him.  The men want me back.  They don’t understand the new boss at all.  They will do anything for me.  So even if I can’t walk I can be worth at least half a man to the Company, in just being on the spot to interpret and to keep things running smoothly.  I could attend to the correspondence, too, for my head and hands are all right.  I know I am as helpless as a baby yet, but if you’ll just stand by me, and keep up that treatment, and help me get my strength back, I’ll make good, some way or another, just as well as Aldebaran did.  By the bloodstone on my watch-fob!” he added, laughingly.  “How is that for a fine swear?”

The old hopeful note in his voice made his helplessness more pathetic than ever to Mary, but she answered gaily, “You know I’ll stand by you till ‘the last cock crows and the last trump blows!’ You didn’t have to be born in Mars month to make undaunted courage the jewel of your soul.”

Perched on the arm of his chair she sat watching the red star for a moment, thinking of the events which had led to his resolution.  “It’s queer, isn’t it,” she said aloud.  “I almost drove Norman away this afternoon with his beast and his train of little Mexicans.  I was so out of patience with him for bringing them here.  But how is one to know an Opportunity when it comes in a chicken-coop disguised as a Wild-cat?”

CHAPTER XV

KEEPING TRYST

An hundred times that summer, Jack made the story of Aldebaran his own.  He had his rare, exalted moments, when all things seemed possible; when despite his helpless body his spirit walked erect, and faced his future for the time undaunted.  He had his daily struggle with the host of hurts which cut him to the quick, the reminders of his thwarted hopes and foiled ambitions.  Then, too, there were times when the only way he could keep up his courage was to repeat grimly through set teeth, “Tis only one hour at a time that I am called on to endure.  By the bloodstone that is my birthright, I’ll keep my oath until the going down of one more sun.”  Before the summer was over it came to pass that more than one soul, given fresh courage by his brave example, looked upon him as the villagers had upon Aldebaran:  “A poor, maimed creature in his outward seeming, and yet so blithely does he bear his lot it seems a kingly spirit dwells among us.”

Mary’s letters to Joyce began to take on a cheerful tone that was vastly encouraging to the toiler in the studio.