"Mr. who?"
"Bonner."
"Well," said 'Rast after a moment's consideration, "he ought to be moved
to a hospital. Lemme lean on you, Roscoe. I can't hardly walk, my arm
hurts so."
Mr. Little, with his bandages and his hobble, had joined in the
expedition, and was not to be deterred until faintness overcame him and
he dropped by the wayside. He was taken in and given a warm chair before
the fire. One long look at Bonner and the newcomer lapsed into a
stubborn pout. He groaned occasionally and made much ado over his
condition, but sourly resented any approach at sympathy. Finally he fell
asleep in the chair, his last speech being to the effect that he was
going home early in the morning if he had to drag himself every foot of
the way. Plainly, 'Rast had forgotten Miss Banks in the sudden revival
of affection for Rosalie Gray. The course of true love did not run
smoothly in Tinkletown.
The searchers straggled in empty handed. Early morning found most of
them asleep at their homes, tucked away by thankful wives, and with the
promises of late breakfasts. The next day business was slow in asserting
its claim upon public attention. Masculine Tinkletown dozed while
femininity chattered to its heart's content. There was much to talk
about and more to anticipate. The officials in all counties contiguous
had out their dragnets, and word was expected at any time that the
fugitives had fallen into their hands.
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