I won't let
you die--I tell you!"
She stroked his forehead with gentle touch:
"I won't give up for your sake----"
"It's a promise now?" he cried.
"Yes, I promise----"
"Then I'm going for a doctor right away----"
"You can't find him, Boy," his father said. "It's thirty miles across
the Ohio into Kentucky where he lives. An' in all this sickness he ain't
at home. Hit's foolishness ter go----"
"I'll find him," was the firm response.
The father made no further protest. He helped him saddle the horse,
buckled the stirrups to fit his little bare legs and gave him as clear
directions as he could.
"The moon'll be shinin' all night, Boy," were his last words. "Yer can
cross the river before eight o'clock. Ef ye git lost on t'other side ax
yer way frum the fust house ye come to----"
The Boy nodded, and when had fixed his bare toes in the stirrups he
leaned low and whispered:
"You won't give up, Pa, will ye? You'll fight for her till I get back?"
The big gnarled fist closed over the little hand on the pommel of the
saddle, and the father's voice was husky:
"As long as there's breath in her body--hurry now."
The last command was not needed. The horse felt the quiver of tense
suffering in the low voice and the nervous touch of the switch on his
side. With a quick bound he was off at a full gallop down the trail
toward the river.
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