"Why, honey," he gasped, "how did you come here? Whar's Gid? Whar's
Shade Buckheath? Lord A'mighty! Whar am I at?"
He looked around him bewildered, evidently expecting to see the porch of
Himes's boarding-house at Cottonville, the scattered bits of silver ore,
and the rifled bandanna. He put his hand to his head, and sliding it
softly down to the back of the neck demanded.
"What's been did to me?"
"You be right good and quiet now, and mind Johnnie," the girl began,
with a pathetic tremble in her voice, "and she'll take you back to the
hospital where they're so kind to you."
"The hospital?" echoed Pros. "That hospital down at Cottonville? I never
was inside o' one o' them places--what do you want me to go thar for,
Johnnie? Who is this gentleman? How came we-all up here on the road
this-a-way?"
"I can quiet him," said Johnnie aside to her new friend. "I always can
when he gets wild this way."
The unknown shook his head.
"You'll never have to quiet him any more, unless he breaks his neck
again," came the announcement. "Your uncle is as sane as anybody--he
just doesn't remember anything that happened from the time he fell down
the steps and slipped that atlas vertebra a little bit on one side."
Again Pros Passmore's fingers sought the back of his collar.
"Looks like somebody has been tryin' to wring my neck, same as a
chicken's," he said meditatively.
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