Say, now, air you sick or shot or what?
Let me--" Duane, reeling in his saddle, bent searching eyes upon the rancher.

He thought he saw good will, kindness, honesty.

He risked all on that one sharp glance.

Then he almost plunged from the saddle.
The rancher caught him, helped him to a bench.
"Martha, come out here!" he called.

"This man's sick.