Once again she
motioned, and he came. With a face deadly pale she surveyed the people
before her silently for a moment, her eyes all huge and staring.
Presently she turned to Ingles and spoke to him quickly in a low voice;
then, descending the steps, passed out through the lane made for her by
the crowd, he following with shaking limbs and bowed bead.
Warning words had passed among the few invincible ones who waited where
the Healer must pass into the open, and there was absolute stillness as
Laura advanced. Their work was to come--quiet and swift and sure; but
not yet.
Only one face Laura saw, as she led the way to the moment's safety--Tim
Denton's; and it was as stricken as her own. She passed, then turned,
and looked at him again. He understood; she wanted him.
He waited till she sprang into her waggon, after the Healer had mounted
his mule and ridden away with ever-quickening pace into the prairie.
Then he turned to the set, fierce men beside him.
"Leave him alone," he said, "leave him to me. I know him. You hear?
Ain't I no rights? I tell you I knew him--South.
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