Day and night Larry tended him or sat by him or slept near him
in a shack on the outskirts of the camp. Shock, grief, starvation,
exhaustion, loss of blood and sleep--all these brought Warren Neale
close to death. He did not care to live. It was the patient, loyal
friend who fought fever and heartbreak and the ebbing tide of life.
Baxter and Henney visited North Platte and called to see him, and
later the chief came and ordered Larry to take Neale to the tents of
the corps. Every one was kind, solicitous, earnest. He had been
missed. The members of his corps knew the strange story of Allie
Lee; they guessed the romance and grieved over the tragedy. They did
all they could do, and the troop doctor added his attention; but it
was the nursing, the presence, and the spirit of Larry King that
saved Neale.
He got well and went back to work with the cowboy for his helper.
In that camp of toil and disorder none but the few with whom Neale
was brought in close touch noted anything singular about him. The
engineers, however, observed that he did not work so well, nor so
energetically, nor so accurately. His enthusiasm was lacking. The
cowboy, always with him, was the one who saw the sudden spells of
somber abstraction and the poignant, hopeless, sleepless pain, the
eternal regret.
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