Fairchild plodded along the road in the tracks of the ambulance, as it headed back for town.
The news already had spread by the time he reached there; news travels fast in a small mining camp.

Fairchild went to the hospital, and to the side of the cot where Harry had been taken, to find the doctor there before him, already bandaging the wound on Harry's head and looking with concern now and then at the pupils of the unconscious man's eyes.
"Are you going to stay here with him ?" the physician asked, after he had finished the dressing of the laceration.
"Yes," Fairchild said, in spite of aching fatigue and heavy eyes.

The doctor nodded.
"Good.

I don't know whether he 's going to pull through or not.

Of course, I can't say--but it looks to me from his breathing and his heart action that he 's not suffering as much from this wound as he is from some sort of poisoning.
"We 've given him apomorphine and it should begin to take effect soon.
We 're using the batteries too.