"Will you go over there, Miss Combs?" he panted. "There's a poor woman in that wagon breathing her last. They were on their way from Taos to Cripple Creek--been camping along the way for some time. Probably they struck bad water somewhere. She's had a low fever. The husband--Keene, his name is--came for me at daybreak, but it was too late. She seems to be a Mexican, though the man isn't. What I want you to do is to look after a child--a little girl of ten or twelve--who is there with her mother. She must be brought away. Did you hear her cry out just now?--that desperate wail? We'd just told her!"