"That young feller's middle name is Long Odds." Mr. Hennage had arrived
at the conclusion that Donna needed a great deal of comforting at that
moment. "He's lived on long odds ever since he came into this country."

"How do you know, Hennage?" the doctor demanded. "I tell--"

"Long odds an' long guns, like birds o' feather always flock together"
the gambler answered him drily, "This young feller wouldn't feel that
he was gettin' any joy out o' life if he didn't tackle the nub end o'
the deal. I'm layin' even money he comes up to the young lady's
expectations."

Donna thanked him with her eyes, and Harley P. crossed to the door and
looked down the long patio to where a small white wooden cross gleamed
through the festoons of climbing roses.

"He ought to have a nurse" the doctor advised Donna.

"Very well, doctor. You will telephone to Bakersfield, or Los Angeles,
will you not, and engage one?"

"I don't think our patient can afford the expense. Hennage frisked him
and all the money--"

"Thank you, I will attend to the financial side of this case, Doctor
Taylor."

Mr. Hennage turned from his survey of the patio.

"Doc," he complained, "it's time for you to move out o' San Pasqual.