"The danger is over," was the slow, heavy reply. "He will live, but he has
bad days to face."
"What was the danger?" they asked. "Fever--maybe brain fever," he
replied. "We'll see him through," someone said.
"Well, he cannot see himself through," rejoined the old man solemnly. The
enigmatical words made them feel there was something behind.
"Why can't he see himself through?" asked Osterhaut the universal, who
had just arrived from the City Hall.
"He can't see himself through because he is blind," was the heavy answer.
There was a moment of shock, of hushed surprise, and then a voice burst
forth: "Blind--they've blinded him, boys! The dagos have killed his
sight. He's blind, boys!"
A profane and angry muttering ran through the crowd, who were thirsty,
hungry, and weary with watching.
Osterhaut held up the horseshoe which had brought Ingolby down. "Here it
is, the thing that done it. It's tied with a blue ribbon-for luck," he
added ironically. "It's got his blood on it. I'm keeping it till
Manitou's paid the price of it. Then I'll give it to Lebanon for keeps."
"That's the thing that did it, but where's the man behind the thing?"
snarled a voice.
Again there was a moment's silence, and then Billy Kyle, the veteran
stage-driver, said: "He's in the jug, but a gaol has doors, and doors'll
open with or without keys.
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