House people? Indeed, there wasn't any place else for them, unless one
excepted the rough room at the jail; and the average small town
jail--ours wasn't any exception to the rule--is a place where a
decent veterinary would scruple to put a sick cur. With him the Poles
brought his sole luggage, a package tied up in oilskin, which they had
found lying partly under him.

We had become accustomed to these sudden inroads of misfortune, so he
was carried upstairs to the front Guest Room, fortunately just then
empty. The Poles turned over to me the heavy package found with him,
stolidly requested a note to the Boss explaining their necessary
tardiness, and hurried away. They had done what they had to do, and
they had no further interest in him. Nobody had any interest in one of
the unknown tramps who got themselves killed or crippled at Dead Man's
Crossin'.

The fellow was shockingly injured and we had some strenuous days and
nights with him, for that which had been a leg had to come off at the
knee; he had lain in the cold for some hours, he had sustained a
frightful shock, and he had lost considerable blood. I am sure that in
the hands of any physician less skilled and determined than
Westmoreland he must have gone out. But Westmoreland, with his jaw
set, followed his code and fenced with death for this apparently
worthless and forfeited life, using all his skill and finesse to
outwit the great Enemy; in spite of which, so attenuated was the man's
chance that we were astonished when he turned the corner--very, very
feebly--and we didn't have to place another pine box in the potter's
field, alongside other unmarked mounds whose occupants were other
unknown men, grim causes of Dead Man's Crossin's sinister name.