AHEAD of us, on hands and knees, was Red Worden!
He was too weak to stand, yet he dragged himself along, the medicine box still slung from his shoulders. When we got to him he was fumbling to unsling the box.
"Get it to her," be whispered.
I was on my knees, shaking him. "How on earth-?"
"The jammed-up trees," he said. "Pulled myself across and passed out."
We got his arms over our shoulders, lifted him to his feet. We dragged him with us now, his legs stumbling as though he had lost all control over them. But we had only a few minutes to go. Where the trail curved we found Philip Daniels and his daughter. The girl lay in a hammock under netting, and from the way she looked at Red I knew I wasn't mistaken about the love between them. I knew, too, that having risked his life, it would be natural now for Red to risk his career for Ella.
And then I wondered how he'd feel when he saw Doc take the cans of drugs out of his shirt, bow he'd react to discovering that his reckless courage had been all for nothing. The thought made me want to turn away.
But Doc was making a great to-do of opening the medicine box in front of Red, and when the box was open, there were the two familiar cans!
I stared up at his hard, thin face. I was stunned, knowing that somehow, while we had helped Red up the trail, Doc had managed to put those cans back in the box. Was this the man who had no use for sentiment?
His eyes met mine steadily. "Jim," he said, "I'll need your help."
I nodded and said, "Sure, Doc. You can count on me all the way."
THE END**
copyright 1956 for the January issue of The American Magazine
no separate record of copyright renewal
ILLUSTRATION BY CHARLES BINGER