"I don't know, but I'll place you
before long. Anyhow, I'm glad you aren't hurt. From the way you
called Paloma I thought you were. I'm handy around sick people, so
I--"
"Listen!" Paloma interrupted. "There's some one at the front
door." She left the room; Blaze was edging after her when he heard
her utter a stifled scream and call his name.
Now Paloma was not the kind of girl to scream without cause, and
her cry brought Blaze to the front of the house at a run. But what
he saw there reassured him momentarily; nothing was in sight more
alarming than one of the depot hacks, in the rear seat of which
was huddled the figure of a man. Paloma was flying down the walk
toward the gate, and Phil Strange was waiting on the porch. As
Blaze flung himself into view the latter explained:
"I brought him straight here, Mr. Jones, 'cause I knew you was his
best friend."
"Who? Who is it?"
"Dave Law. He must have came in on the noon train. Anyhow, I found
him--like that." The two men hurried toward the road, side by
side.
"What's wrong with him?" Blaze demanded.
"I don't know. He's queer--he's off his bean. I've had a hard time
with him.
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