CHAPTER XXXIII.
NOTHING NEW Glendin and Dr.Young struck out for the ranch of William Drew, but they held a moderate pace, and it was already grey dawn before they arrived; yet even at that hour several windows of the house were lighted.

They were led directly to Drew's room.
The big man welcomed them at the door with a hand raised for silence.

He seemed to have aged greatly during the night, but between the black shadows beneath and the shaggy brows above, his eyes gleamed more brightly than ever.

About his mouth the lines of resolution were worn deep by his vigil.
"He seems to be sleeping rather well--though you hear his breathing ?" It was a soft, but ominously rattling sound.
"Through the lungs," said the doctor instantly.
The cowpuncher was completely covered, except for his head and feet.

On the latter, oddly enough, were still his grimy boots, blackening the white sheets on which they rested.
"I tried to work them off--you see the laces are untied," explained Drew, "but the poor fellow recovered consciousness at once, and struggled to get his feet free.