In despair
the manager had sent to Jim, eagerly hoping that he might help them, for
the Riders of the Plains were a sort of court of appeal for every trouble
in the Far North.
Instantly Jim was in the saddle with his troop. Out of curiosity he had
learned telegraphy when a boy, as he had learned many things, and,
arrived at the scene of the accident, he sent messages and received
them--by sound, not on paper as did the official operator, to the
amazement and pride of the troop. Then, between caring for the injured in
the accident, against the coming of the relief train, and nursing the
sick operator through the dark moments of his dangerous illness, he
passed a crisis of his own disease triumphantly; but not the last crisis.
So the first and so the second and third years passed in safety.
III
"PLEASE, I want to go, too, Jim."
Jim swung round and caught the child up in his arms. "Say, how dare you
call your father Jim--eh, tell me that?"
"It's what mummy calls you--it's pretty."
"I don't call her 'mummy' because you do, and you mustn't call me Jim
because she does--do you hear?" The whimsical face lowered a little, then
the rare and beautiful dark blue eyes raised slowly, shaded by the long
lashes, and the voice said demurely, "Yes--Jim.
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