4 Deep twilight lay upon powder Valley when John Boyd reached the Lazy Mare ranch leading Pat’s horse. Pat’s eyes were swollen to tiny blood-crusted slits, rendering him practically blind, and helpless to do anything except sit in the saddle and be guided home. Sally Stevens came to the front door of the comfortable ranch house as the two men rode into the yard. Backlighted against the yellow glow of a kerosene lamp, Sally looked trim and youthful after ten years of marriage and nine years of motherhood. There was still light enough for her to recognize the figure of their Bar X neighbor, though not enough for her to realize her husband’s condition. She called out gaily: “You’re just in time for supper, Mr. Boyd. Sage hen and dumplings.” “Sounds mighty good, Sally.” Boyd tried to make his voice sound hearty and cheerful, but the effort was a miserable failure. He stopped the horses ten feet from the door and swung out of the saddle. Sally’s heart gave a great leap and began to pound as though it would tear itself out of her breast when she saw that Pat sat laxly, swaying in the saddle with both hands gripping the horn.
