as she flew, Weary was before her and had raised Chip's head upon one
arm. She knelt beside him in the dust, hovering over the white face
and still form like a pitying, little gray angel. Weary looked at her
impersonally, but neither of them spoke in those first, breathless
moments.

The Old Man, who had witnessed the accident, came puffing laboriously
up the hill, taking the short cut straight across from the stable.

"Is he--DEAD?" he yelled while he scrambled.

Weary turned his head long enough to look down at him, with the same
impersonal gaze he had bestowed upon the Little Doctor, but he did not
answer the question. He could not, for he did not know. The Little
Doctor seemed not to have heard.

The Old Man redoubled his exertions and reached them very much out of
breath.

"Is he dead, Dell?" he repeated in an awestruck tone. He feared she
would say yes.

The Little Doctor had taken possession of the brown head. She looked
up at her brother, a very unprofessional pallor upon her face, and down
at the long, brown lashes and at the curved, sensitive lips which held
no hint of red. She pressed the face closer to her breast and shook her
head. She could not speak, just then, for the griping ache that was in
her throat.

"One of the best men on the ranch gone under, just when we need help the