"Teeny--my wife--told me you
was better," he began, "so I beat it out here. I hung around all
day yesterday, waiting to see you, but you was batty."
"I was pretty sick," Dave acknowledged. "Mrs. Strange was mighty
kind to me."
"Sick people get her goat. She's got a way with 'em, and with
animals, too. Why, Rajah, the big python with our show, took sick
one year, and he'd have died sure only for her. Same with a lot of
the other animals. She knows more'n any vet I ever saw."
"Perhaps I needed a veterinary instead of a doctor," Dave smiled.
"I guess I've got some horse blood in me. See!" Montrosa had
thrust her head under his arm and was waiting for him to scratch
her ears.
"Well, I brought you some mail." Strange fumbled in his pocket for
a small bundle of letters, explaining: "Blaze gave me these for
you as I passed the post office. Now I wonder if you feel good
enough to talk business."
Dave took the letters with a word of thanks, and thrust them
carelessly into his pocket. "What seems to be the trouble?" he
inquired.
"You remember our last talk? Well, them Mexicans have got me
rattled. I've been trying everywhere to locate you.
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