All
these days, however, there was little apparent change in Ladd's
condition unless it was that he seemed to fade away as he lingered.
At first his wounds remained open; they bled a little all the time
outwardly, perhaps internally also; the blood did not seem to clot,
and so the bullet holes did not close. Then Yaqui asked for the
care of Ladd. Gale yielded it with opposing thoughts--that Ladd
would waste slowly away till life ceased, and that there never was
any telling what might lie in the power of this strange Indian.
Yaqui absented himself from camp for a while, and when he returned
he carried the roots and leaves of desert plants unknown to Gale.
From these the Indian brewed an ointment. Then he stripped the
bandages from Ladd and applied the mixture to his wounds. That
done, he let him lie with the wounds exposed to the air, at night
covering him. Next day he again exposed the wounds to the warm,
dry air. Slowly they closed, and Ladd ceased to bleed externally.
Days passed and grew into what Gale imagined must have been weeks.
Yaqui recovered fully. Jim Lash began to move about on a crutch;
he shared the Indian's watch over Ladd. Thorne lay haggard,
emaciated ghost of his rugged self, but with life in the eyes that
turned always toward Mercedes. Ladd lingered and lingered. The
life seemingly would not leave his bullet-pierced body. He faded,
withered, shrunk till he was almost a skeleton. He knew those who
worked and watched over him, but he had no power of speech.
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