"Come," she said, "you should have been in the buggy ready to start."
"Yas'm, yas'm, comin' comin'," he answered, breaking into a trot for the
rig, and climbing in by her side. "Come Jim, git! Yo' black villen, don'
yo' know, dis here's er'mergency case? Yo' sho got to lay yo' laigs to
de groun' dis night er yo' goin' to git left sartin! 'Mergency case!" he
chuckled. "Dat mak him go, Miss. Funny I nebber knowed dat 'fore."
Sure enough, the black horse was covering the ground at a pace that
fairly took Miss Farwell's breath. The quick steady beat of the iron-shod
feet and the rattle of the buggy wheels echoed loudly in the gray
stillness. Above the tops of the giant maples that lined the road, the
nurse saw the stars paling in the first faint glow of the coming day,
while here and there in the homes of some early-rising workers the
lights flashed out, and the people--with the name of Dr. Harry on their
lips--paused to listen to the hurried passing of big Jim.
"Can you tell me something of the case?" asked the nurse.
"Case? Oh you mean de po'r gal what tried to kill herse'f. Yes, Miss, I
sho can. Yo' see hit's dis away. Hit's dat po'r Conner gal, her whose
Daddy done killed Jack Mulhall, de town marshal yo' know. De Conners
used to be nice folks, all 'ceptin' Jim. He drink a little sometimes,
an' den he was plumb bad. Seems lak he got worse dat way. An' since dey
took him off an' Mrs. Conner died de gal, she don't git 'long somehow.
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