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 Page i

Software Engineering
Second Edition

David C. Kung
 Page ii

SOFTWARE ENGINEERING

Published by McGraw Hill LLC, 1325 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10019.
Copyright ©2024 by McGraw Hill LLC. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of
America. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any
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ISBN 978-1-265-24243-5

MHID 1-265-24243-7

Cover Image: Shutterstock Images, LLC

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LLC, and McGraw Hill LLC does not guarantee the accuracy of the information presented
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mheducation.com/highered
 Page iii

Dedication
To My Father
 Page iv

Brief Contents
Preface xv

Part I

Introduction and System Engineering 1

1 Introduction 2

2 Software Process and Methodology 10

3 System Engineering 43

Part II

Analysis and Architectural Design 67

4 Software Requirements Elicitation 68

5 Domain Modeling 92

6 Architectural Design 123

Part III

Modeling and Design of Interactive Systems 155

7 Deriving Use Cases from Requirements 156

8 Actor–System Interaction Modeling 182

9 Object Interaction Modeling 196

10 Applying Responsibility-Assignment Patterns 224

11 Deriving a Design Class Diagram 246

12 User Interface Design 259

Part IV

Modeling and Design of Other Types of Systems 281

13 Modeling and Design of Event-Driven Systems 282

14 Activity Modeling for Transformational Systems 314

15 Modeling and Design of Rule-Based Systems 330

Part V

Applying Situation-Specific Patterns 351

16 Applying Patterns to Design a State Diagram Editor 352

17 Applying Patterns to Design a Persistence Framework 400

Part VI

Implementation and Quality Assurance 423

18 Implementation Considerations 424

19 Software Quality Assurance 442

20 Software Testing 474

Page v

Part VII

Maintenance and Configuration Management 511

21 Software Maintenance 512

22 Software Configuration Management 541

Part VIII
Project Management and Software Security 553
23 Software Project Management 554

24 Software Security 584

Appendices
A Personal Software Process: Estimation, Planning, and Quality Assurance 608

B Java Technologies 611

C Software Tools 623

D Project Descriptions 638

E Object Constraint Language 644

Index 649
 Page vi

CONTENTS
Preface xv
Part I
Introduction and System Engineering 1
Chapter 1
Introduction 2

1.1 What Is Software Engineering? 3

1.2 Why Software Engineering? 5

1.3 Software Engineering Ethics 6

1.4 Software Engineering and Computer Science 7

1.5 Summary 8

1.6 Chapter Review Questions 9

1.7 Exercises 9

Chapter 2
Software Process and Methodology 10

2.1 Challenges of System Development 11

2.2 Software Process 12

2.3 Theory of Wicked Problems 13

2.4 Software Process Models 15

2.4.1 Prototyping Process 15

2.4.2 Evolutionary Process 15

2.4.3 Spiral Process 16

2.4.4 The Unified Process 17

2.4.5 Personal Software Process 18

 2.4.6 Team Software Process 23

2.4.7 Agile Processes 25

2.5 Software Methodology 31

2.5.1 Difference between Process and Methodology 31

2.5.2 Benefits of a Methodology 32

2.5.3 Status of Software Development Methodologies 32

2.6 Agile Methods 33

2.6.1 Dynamic Systems Development Method 33

2.6.2 Feature-Driven Development 35

2.6.3 Scrum 36

2.6.4 Extreme Programming 37

2.6.5 Agile Unified Methodology 38

2.6.6 Kanban 39

2.7 Summary 41

2.8 Chapter Review Questions 42

2.9 References 42

2.10 Exercises 42

Chapter 3
System Engineering 43

3.1 What Is a System? 44

3.2 What Is System Engineering? 45

3.3 System Requirements Definition 48

3.3.1 Identifying Business Needs 48

 3.3.2 Defining System Requirements 50

3.4 System Architectural Design 50

3.4.1 System Decomposition 51

3.4.2 Requirements Allocation 54

3.4.3 Architectural Design Diagrams 55

3.4.4 Specification of Subsystem Functions and Interfaces 59

3.5 Subsystems Development 61

3.5.1 Object-Oriented Context Diagram 61

3.5.2 Usefulness of an Object-Oriented Context Diagram 61

3.5.3 Collaboration of Engineering Teams 62

3.6 System Integration, Testing, and Deployment 63

3.7 System Configuration Management 63

3.8 Summary 65

3.9 Chapter Review Questions 65

3.10 Exercises 66

Page vii
Part II
Analysis and Architectural Design 67
Chapter 4
Software Requirements Elicitation 68

4.1 What Is Requirements Elicitation? 68

4.2 Importance of Requirements Elicitation 70

4.3 Types of Requirement 71

4.4 Challenges of Requirements Elicitation 72

4.5 Steps for Requirements Elicitation 74

4.5.1 Collecting Information 75

4.5.2 Constructing Analysis Models 78

4.5.3 Deriving Requirements and Constraints 79

4.5.4 Requirements Specification Standards 84

4.5.5 Conducting Feasibility Study 86

4.5.6 Reviewing Requirements Specification 86

4.6 Applying Agile Principles 87

4.7 Requirements Management and Tools 89

4.8 Summary 90

4.9 Chapter Review Questions 90

4.10 Exercises 90

Chapter 5
Domain Modeling 92
5.1 What Is Domain Modeling? 92

5.2 Why Domain Modeling? 93

5.3 Object-Orientation and Class Diagram 94

5.3.1 Extensional and Intentional Definitions 94

5.3.2 Class and Object 95

5.3.3 Object and Attribute 96

5.3.4 Association 97

5.3.5 Multiplicity and Role 98

5.3.6 Aggregation 99

5.3.7 Inheritance 100

5.3.8 Inheritance and Polymorphism 101

5.3.9 Association Class 102

5.4 Steps for Domain Modeling 103

5.4.1 Collecting Application Domain Information 104

5.4.2 Brainstorming 105

5.4.3 Classifying Brainstorming Results 106

5.4.4 Visualizing the Domain Model 110

5.4.5 Domain Model Review Checklist 115

5.5 Putting It Together 115

5.6 Guidelines for Domain Modeling 118

5.7 Applying Agile Principles 120

5.8 Tool Support for Domain Modeling 121

5.9 Summary 121

Other documents randomly have
different content
lawn before the little house. He halted when he reached it, and took
off his hat. “Oh, Miss Letty!” he called.
The fig trees formed a dense screen against the noon heat. Under
one was a girl, bareheaded and barearmed, with a half-filled basket
of the purple fruit at her feet. As the doctor spoke she turned and
came toward him swiftly across the clover. She was tall, nearly as tall
as he, and the great knot of crisp and dusky hair on her small head
added to her slender height. Her eyes were like her hair—dark and
shining. They made vivid contrast with the clear paleness of her
cheek and throat.
“You’re going out of town,” she said, with a glance at the canvas
case.
“What do you think!” he answered, his face flushing with pleasure.
“They want me at Blue Top!”
She stopped. “The regular mine doctor left last week. They’ll have to
have somebody in his place. Maybe——” Her eyes questioned his.
“It was Eastman ’phoned me.” He said it proudly.
“The owner of the mine!”
“‘We want you up here’ is what he said. And ‘Come prepared for
anything.’ But a-course——” It was his turn to break off. His grey
eyes were anxious.
“They want you to stay!” she declared excitedly. “Won’t that be
splendid! Now you’ll be able to buy all the books you’ve been
wanting. You know, they give a good salary at Blue Top, and—and
house rent free.” A wave of colour swept her face then, tinting it a
delicate rose.
He had come nearer her. “It’d mean more’n books to me,” he said in
a low voice.
“You’re the best doctor in the country; that’s why they’ve sent for you.
But what’ll this town do without you?” She smiled up at him,
forgetting her embarrassment. “Every baby in the place’ll miss ‘Doc’.”
Like a man who is summoning his courage he set his teeth together
for a moment and took a deep breath. Then: “The part of the town
that I like best I want to take with me,” he said, his tone significant.
There was a moment’s silence. She retreated a step, her face rosier
than before. He kept his eyes fixed earnestly on her lowered lashes,
waiting for them to rise.
“I’ve—I’ve wanted to ask you before, Letty—lots of times. But I
couldn’t as long as I knowed I’d have to take you to a boardin’-
house; I’ve waited till I thought I could see a home in sight. If this
comes true——” He reached out a big, sunburned hand and touched
her slender one where it hung at her side.
She raised her eyes and they were misty with hope. “Do your level
best at the mine!” she half-whispered.
“Letty—you care!” He let her hand fall, for his own was trembling.
“Oh, you bet I’ll do my best. This is my chance. I’m bankin’ on it.”
“Take my horse for the trip. Bobby wasn’t out of the barn yesterday,
and I’m pickling figs to-day. Please do.”
“All right, I’ll be glad to.”
A few minutes later, when he rode out of the corral, canvas case
tight-strapped to his back, he was mounted on a spirited little
mustang whose bright eyes watched through a bushy forelock. The
gate was left in a rushing gallop. And from down the street, where
the doctor turned into the Blue Top road, he waved a hand back to
Letty. Then he cantered on.
It was fifteen miles to the mine, all up grade and rough going. But
Bobby kept a quick pace; and his rider, fixing his look hopefully
ahead, gave no thought to the road. Two things ran constantly in the
doctor’s mind: “We want you up here” and “Come prepared for
anything.” The more he thought of the statements the more he felt
certain about the success of his trip. They surely meant him to
remain at the mine. That was why he had been asked to bring as
much of his equipment as possible.
“Halt!”
It was Bobby who obeyed the command. Out of the thick brush that
lined the grade had stepped three men, blocking his way. The trio
carried rifles across their arms.
“Who are you?” demanded one of the three. He was a smooth-
shaven, thick-set, middle-aged man with hard, milky-blue eyes and
soft, fat cheeks that pouched heavily, drawing his under lids down to
show a scarlet lining.
“Doctor.”
“Oh!—I see. Good work.” The thick-set man fell back a step and
gave a sidewise jerk of the head. It was permission to ride on. Then
he led his companions across the road and into the chaparral.
A moment later the doctor forgot the occurrence. The road divided,
and he turned into the less used one of the two. Rounding a sharp
turn in it he came in sight of a tiny, shingled bungalow built upon a
spot that had been made level by digging into the side of the
mountain. This was the residence of the regular physician at the
mine. It was vacant now, and through the uncurtained window he
could see the pretty living room, with its low, raftered ceiling and its
great fireplace of stone.
“Oh, if this only comes true!” he said aloud. Already he pictured
Letty’s face at the window.
At the side porch of the superintendent’s house he dismounted
quickly, dropped the bridle reins to the ground and sprang up the
steps, unbuckling his case as he went.
A Chinese in spotless white answered his ring and, without a
question, went pattering away to a closed door at the end of a long
hall, where he paused and knocked softly.
A man opened the door. He was perhaps thirty-five, with the bearing
that marks the city-bred. But his dress was dishevelled, his haggard
face showed a one-day’s growth of beard, and his eyes were hollow,
as if from sickness, and bloodshot. “Is this Doctor Hunter?” he
questioned, whispering.
“Yas, sir.”
“My name is Eastman.” He motioned the doctor to enter.
In the darkened room there was discernible only the outlines of a
bed, upon which someone was tossing. The patient was moaning,
too, and hoarsely repeating a name: “Laurie! Laurie! Laurie! Laurie!”
The tone was insistent and full of anguished appeal.
The doctor went to the bedside. The face on the pillow was that of a
young woman—a woman of perhaps twenty-five. It was a face that
reminded him of Letty’s. There was the same delicate outline of
cheek and chin, the same full, sweet mouth and girlish throat. But
the dark head was moving from side to side with each repeating of
the name, and the dark eyes were staring wildly. As he leaned down
she turned them full upon him.
“Laurie! Laurie! Laurie!” she entreated.
“Nervous shock,” said the doctor. He lifted a white wrist. It was rigid
and the pulse hard. The hand was knotted, too, and shook with its
very tenseness. “What put her into this shape?”
Eastman did not reply at once. He began to walk the room. Presently
he halted behind the doctor. “Mrs. Eastman is—is worried,” he
explained.
“Wal, I should judge so,” remarked the doctor coldly. He laid an open
hand upon the sick woman’s forehead to quiet the constant wagging.
“How long’s she been like this?”
“Twenty-four hours. Give her something to make her sleep. She’ll go
crazy.”
“In a case like this you got to remove the cause.” The doctor spoke
severely. The whole thing looked bad to him.
Eastman made no answer, but left the room, for the Chinese had
summoned him noiselessly from the door.
Left alone, the doctor prepared an opiate and administered one
draught of it, after which he took a chair beside the bed and again
lifted a tense wrist. Presently Mrs. Eastman ceased to murmur her
heart-broken plaint. Her clenched fingers relaxed their hold on the
counterpane. Then the strained lids of the sufferer fluttered down.
When she was breathing deep and regularly, with a peaceful smile
on the sweet mouth and her hands folded on her breast, he leaned
back. And, looking at her, his thoughts returned to Letty and to the
tiny bird’s-nest of a house perched below in a niche of the mountain.
He could see a strong young figure going to and fro through the cozy
rooms; himself beside a wood fire, with his books about him. Spring
came a trifle later here on the tilted crown of Blue Top, fall arrived a
little early, which meant many evenings cool enough for a cheery
blaze. And if the mine was off the line of the railroad, that did not——
Eastman entered hurriedly, leaving the door open behind him.
The doctor rose, the look of day-dreaming still in his eyes. “She’s
quiet,” he said in a low voice. “What else can I attend to up here?”
“This is all.” As Eastman answered his own look was averted. “Our
new physician’s due to-day—Doctor Fowler, of San Francisco.”
“I—I see.” A surge of red deepened the tan on the doctor’s face. “I
s’pose you won’t need me no more.”
“How much do I owe you?” There was dismissal in Eastman’s tone.
The other closed the canvas case and picked up his hat. Then he
leaned over the sleeper for a moment. When he started slowly
toward the door the spring was gone from his step. He seemed not
to have heard the question.
“Will ten be satisfactory?” Eastman had run a hand into a pocket.
Now he held a goldpiece.
The doctor turned. A troubled light was in the grey eyes. “Five’d be a
fair charge for Blue Top,” he said. As the smaller coin was proffered
him he took it, bowed and went out.
Someone followed him—he did not look back to see who. But as he
reached the front door his eyes fell upon a photograph that lay on a
table beside the hatrack. It was the photograph of a child—a
handsome, fair-haired little boy in gingham rompers, standing on a
garden path amid chrysanthemums that reached above his tumbled
curls. “Is that your baby?” asked the doctor, and, with the inquiry,
turned to the one behind.
It was not Eastman, but the Chinese servant who had followed him
out. As he opened the door he made no reply.
Bobby was waiting dutifully at the steps; and when he was headed
down the mountain he went single-footing away eagerly, his bit-
chains rattling with his swaying gait. But the doctor rode with his chin
on his breast and his soft hat pulled to his brows. And when a bend
in the road brought the shingled bungalow near, instead of looking at
it he turned his face toward the long, level valley. In the distance, on
the tree-strewn river-bottom, was a cluster of white specks—the
town he had left in the early afternoon. He had come from it
hopefully: he was returning unsuccessful. But his jaw was set
resolutely.
It was past sundown when he reined at the gate leading to Bobby’s
corral. Letty had seen him ride up. Now she came hurrying across
the garden toward him. “Is it good news?” she called.
He was down and standing beside his horse. “I counted my chickens
ahead of time,” he answered, and smiled ruefully. “They’re gittin’ a
city doc for Blue Top.”
As he slipped off saddle and bridle she stood in silence, her eyes on
the ground. But when he came over and paused beside her she
looked up at him bravely, for all the tears on her lashes. “Never mind
about Blue Top,” she said. “Think what a fine doctor you are now.
And you’re so young. If you go on with your studying——”
“I’ll tell you what’s the matter with me,” he said very earnestly. “I cure,
don’t I? But I don’t dress good enough. I don’t know how to talk. And
I ain’t one of them stylish, top-buggy physicians.” He looked up the
street to his own gate. A man had pulled up before it—a queer-
looking individual mounted on a raw-boned mule and wearing a long,
tan linen duster and a black slouch hat. “The fact is,” he went on,
“I’m not Doctor Hunter. That’s it. I’m just ‘Doc.’”
The man on the mule was advancing toward them. Letty hastened to
inquire about Blue Top. “You didn’t tell me who was sick at the mine,”
she reminded.
“Mrs. Eastman. But—she wasn’t sick.”
“She wasn’t sick?” Letty raised a puzzled face.
“Just unhappy. Eastman didn’t say what about. But her poor heart’s
a-breakin’.”
The man on the mule pulled up for a second time, near by. “Are you
Doc Hunter?” he demanded. The voice sounded muffled.
“I’m the Doc.”
“A friend of mine is sick—out of town here a little ways.”
“Take Bobby again,” Letty urged in an undertone. “You know how
tough he is. He won’t mind, if the trip is short.”
“But he ain’t had his feed,” said the doctor.
“I’ll tie some oats to the saddle.”
As she hurried off the doctor went up to the man on the mule. “What
kind of a case is it?” he inquired, and noticed that the stranger had a
handkerchief tied under his jaws and over his ears.
“That’s what I expect you to tell me.” There was a note of sneering in
the retort.
“I mean, is it surgical?” explained the other.
“Well, suppose you come fixed so’s you’ll be ready for any kind of a
case.”
The doctor stared. It was Eastman’s reply—with a different wording.
And the coincidence seemed a strange one. Then: “You’d better let
me do somethin’ for that toothache,” he said kindly.
“Oh, it don’t amount to anything,” was the short answer.
The doctor had not unbuckled his case. Now he crossed the corral to
Bobby and picked up bridle and saddle.
The stranger led the way out of town, hurrying his mule forward with
voice, switch and heels, and taking the main traveled road that led
south beside the railroad track. Night was already settling, and to the
left the scattered shafts of a cemetery gleamed white through the
gathering dusk. Beyond the cemetery, where a dim road branched
eastward across the rails toward the river, the guide drew up and
dismounted and busied himself for a moment with the bridle of his
mule. The doctor also reined and waited.
Presently his companion came walking back, leaving the mule tied to
the railroad fence. “Doc,” he began, putting one hand on Bobby’s
bridle and the other on the doctor’s knee, “don’t misunderstand what
I’m going to say to you.”
“Yas? What’s that?” Of a sudden the doctor felt dislike and suspicion.
“Where I’m going,” continued the man deliberately, “you’ll have to
travel blindfolded.”
The doctor did not speak for a moment. Again he was staring at the
other, not so startled as he was amazed at this, the second queer
call in a single day! Before he had finished puzzling over the half-
crazed woman at Blue Top and the trio of armed men who had
halted him, here was another mystery. Was the county gone mad?
“You’ve barked up the wrong tree, Mister,” he said finally, looking into
the small eyes that were glinting up at him. “I’ve got just five dollars
with me. Let me show y’.” He reached into a pocket. “That ain’t worth
cuttin’ my throat for.”
A boisterous laugh greeted this. Then: “Cut your throat! Why, I’m not
after money. I want a doctor. And I’m going to have a doctor.” Still
holding to Bobby’s rein the stranger reached down and patted his
right thigh. “I’ve never heard of taking a doctor to a sick man at the
end of a gun,” he added, “but if you hold back that’s the way I’ll take
you. Get down.”
The doctor dismounted.
“Turn around,” was the next order.
As the doctor obeyed a large, soft handkerchief was laid across his
eyes and bound tight.
He climbed back into his saddle then, and found his stirrups. But as
he picked up his rein once more he felt his hands gripped in a firm
hold and brought forward to the pommel.
“I’ll tie your wrists now,” said his companion.
The doctor straightened and jerked his arms to his sides. “You don’t
need to,” he declared. “I’ll let my eyes alone.”
“Put out your hands!” came the stern command.
There was nothing to do but comply.
When they moved on again the doctor sat with every faculty on the
alert, determined to discover which way they were travelling. But first
they circled two or three times, then took a zigzag course. And after
so much forethought on his guide’s part the doctor was completely
turned around. So that, starting forward finally along a comparatively
straight course, he did not know in what direction they were headed.
Soon he forgot to note any veering to right or left. A feeling of intense
nausea came over him, caused by the sway of his horse and his
inability to see.
The going was smooth enough for the first half-hour. Afterward it
became rough, when they ceased to canter, even over short
distances. At the end of the first long hour they wound down a steep
and evidently narrow path. This brought them to rushing water, which
they crossed when the mule and Bobby had drunk. Then a long
climb began—to level ground again. At last a sharp turn was made
to the left. Once more they descended. Then came a halt.
“Get down,” said the guide.
“I will when you let loose my hands,” returned the doctor crossly.
“This is a dickens of a way to treat a white man!”
When he was down and his eyes were unbound he saw that they
were in the bottom of a deep cañon, for on either side of him, against
the lighter background of the sky, was the black, pine-topped line of
a ridge. There was a small clearing in the cañon, circled by a wall of
underbrush, and at the centre of the clearing a squat shanty, beyond
which showed a patch of light from a window on its farther side.
Bridles were taken off and girths loosened. Then the doctor folded
down the top of the feed-sack so that Bobby could eat, and left the
little horse devouring his oats.
Now the two men made toward the shanty and silently entered a
small, low room lighted by a single kerosene lamp. The walls of the
room were of rough pine boards, smoke-stained; the ceiling was of
blackened cheesecloth that sagged low overhead. There was a
rough board table beside the door, and two benches, as unplaned as
the table, for seats. A small stove stood in one corner, rusted by the
rain that had trickled down upon it from the pipe-opening in the roof;
against a wall stood a bed of boards—a bed only wide enough for
one person. Upon it, under a grey blanket, lay a figure.
The doctor picked up the lamp, crossed to the bedside, and let the
light shine down upon his patient—a man not more than twenty-eight
years of age. The fevered face was ugly, almost apelike; the
forehead bulged, the cheek-bones were high, the nose so flat that
the nostrils were two wide, black holes; and the mouth was full and
coarse. The doctor recoiled as he looked, and turned to the man
standing at his shoulder.
He saw a face that he liked still less—eyes small and deep-set, and
overhung with heavy, coarse brows; a nose lean and high and
twisted so far out of line that it made a left obtuse angle from
forehead to mouth; and long, thin lips that opened over small,
uneven, discoloured teeth. But the most striking feature of the face
was a scar. It lay across the left cheek from the corner of the eye to
the point of the heavy chin. It was a straight scar—as straight as if
made by a keen knife drawn along the edge of a ruler. And it was
old, and a dead white that contrasted sharply with the liquor-
reddened skin of the cheek.
“I’ll hold the lamp,” said the man with the scar.
The doctor unbuckled his case, threw off his coat and rolled up his
sleeves. He did not ask what was the matter, but laid back the
bedclothes and began his look for a wound. And he found it—a
gunshot wound in the right side, at the waist-line, and mortally deep.
“My! This oughta been ’tended to hours ago,” he said severely.
“When did it happen?”
“Yesterday. He’s been unconscious ever since.”
“Git me some hot water.”
Then, for an hour, not a word was spoken. The doctor worked with
all his energy, forgetting where he was, forgetting hunger and
weariness. The table had been moved close to the bed and the lamp
placed upon it. So the man with the scar had nothing to do. He
walked the floor, his head down and held a little sidewise, as if he
were listening; and as he walked his eyes continually shifted from
side to side.
“I’m done,” announced the doctor at last. “This medicine you can
give him every three hours—one teaspoonful. It’s for the fever.”
The man with the scar came over to stand at the foot of the bed.
“Leave something that’ll make him sleep,” he said.
“All right.” The doctor had thought of asking for coffee. But now he
was eager to get away. There was that in the manner of his guide
which he did not like—an anxiety that seemed apart from concern for
the sick man.
Soon they were started on the return trip, the doctor blindfolded as
before and tied by the wrists to his pommel. As they went he marked
as well as he could ascents and descents, abrupt turns, level
stretches and rough. Bobby travelled slowly, being tired with all the
long miles he had covered since noon; and once or twice he
stumbled, jerking at his headline.
The man with the scar cursed him. “Why don’t you ride a mule?” he
called back. “A mule’s sure-footed, and he’s got more sense in a
minute than a horse’s got in a week.”
“Ain’t nothin’ the matter with this horse’s smartness,” retorted the
doctor. “Bobby knows as much as a man.”
“Oh, does he?” said the other with a mirthless laugh. “Well, you’d
better look out or I’ll blindfold him, too.”
When the animals were once more brought to a standstill the man
with the scar did not dismount, but rode close enough to untie the
thongs at the doctor’s pommel and to jerk away the handkerchief.
They were beside the railroad track where the dim road branched
east. The man with the scar addressed the doctor sharply. “Doc,” he
said, “if you know what’s good for you you’ll just forget all about to-
night.” Then: “So long.” But he stayed where he was in the road.
“So long,” returned the doctor. He headed north. When beyond the
cemetery he looked round, the mule and its scar-faced rider were
gone.
A milk wagon was rumbling through the town as the doctor
dismounted at the wide gate which led to Bobby’s stable, and a boy
on a bicycle was wheeling from house to house along the street,
throwing San Francisco papers of the previous afternoon into each
yard. The morning of another day had come.
There was a light still burning, however, in the kitchen of the little
flower-covered cottage. And soon Letty came hurrying out. “Have
you had any rest?” she asked. “I’ve got some hot coffee ready for
you.”
He gave a tender smile. “You’ll make a fine doctor’s wife!” he
declared.
“Not if I worry, though. And I have worried—all night.” She tried to
smile back at him, but her lips trembled. “Because I didn’t like the
looks of the man that came here after you. Where was the case?”
“I’m afraid you’ll worry worse when I tell you,” he answered. “I don’t
know where I’ve been.”
“You don’t know!”
Briefly, over a cup of steaming coffee in the kitchen, he related the
happenings of the night just gone. Letty listened, wide-eyed and
pale. “How do you figger it out?” he asked her as he concluded his
story. “The Blue Top call was funny, but this was worse.”
The next moment she rose to her feet and let her cup and saucer fall
with a clatter. “That’s who they are!” she cried. “Why didn’t I think of it
before! The whole thing’s out at the mine.” Then she ran from the
kitchen into the dining-room and came running back again, a
newspaper in one hand. “Read it!” she bade in the wildest
excitement. “Oh, read it!”
He took the paper from her. It was the local publication of the day
before, and the article she indicated occupied the upper half of the
front page. “Laurence Eastman Kidnapped,” read a line that reached
from one side of the sheet to the other. Under this, in smaller type,
was a subhead: “Outlaws Demand Five Thousand Dollars of
Millionaire Father. Threaten to Kill Child if Theft is Made Public.”
The doctor read no further. “That’s what was the matter with Mrs.
Eastman,” he said in a low voice. “The boy’s out in that cañon!”
Astounded, each gazed into the face of the other for a moment. “You
didn’t hear him?” ventured Letty. “Maybe he was hid in the brush.”
“The shanty was pretty good-sized—lookin’ at it from the outside,”
returned the doctor. “Inside, the room was awful small. If that man
comes after me again——”
“Don’t go out alone with him,” she pleaded. “Let somebody trail you.”
He shook his head. “He’d find it out and shoot. No, I’ve got to take
the chance. Oh, Letty, if I could only bring that little woman her kid!”
Letty’s dark eyes were misty. “You couldn’t telephone her, could
you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “So far, everything’s guesswork. I dassent raise
her hopes on that. It’s awful when a person’s hopes’re raised—and
then go smash. I’ve got to find out where I was. There’s a scheme I
heard of once——”
“Is it scattering beans?”
“No.” He laughed and reached across the kitchen table to cover a
slim hand with one of his. “No”—more soberly—“it’s something
different—it’s about Bobby. You’d have to let me take care of him for
a few days and treat him real bad. I won’t tell you what I’d do to him,
then it won’t fret you.”
“Take Bobby,” she urged. “But oh, don’t have any trouble out there
with that man!” And she grew white and clung to his hand as she had
never done before.
He stayed only long enough to reassure her, and went when the sun
shone against the kitchen window. He had been twenty-four hours
without sleep.
It was an anxious day for Letty. The doctor spent it in work after he
had had his rest, and at six o’clock opened his medicine-case to put
into it one or two things that had been lacking the previous night.
When sundown came and the long, grateful twilight, he paid a visit to
Bobby. Then he lighted the lamp in his office and sat down to wait.
Dark brought the looked-for summons. The front gate squeaked on
its hinges. Heavy steps sounded along the narrow boardwalk leading
up to the porch. Next, following a short pause, came a knock.
The doctor opened the door. The man with the scar was in waiting.
He kept out of range of the light that fell through the door, but the
doctor could see that the face of his visitor was again half hidden by
a handkerchief and that the slouch hat was worn low to shadow it.
“My friend’s suffering awful,” he said by way of greeting. “All over the
place, Doc. I felt almost like putting him out of his misery.”
At once the doctor went for Bobby. An eager whinny hailed the
opening of the stable door. But when the little horse was led out of
his stall he hung back and all but refused to leave it. “You’ll have
some supper out yonder,” promised his rider, and tied a generous
feed of oats to the thongs of the big stock saddle.
A slender figure came swiftly across the corral. It was Letty, and she
lifted her face to the doctor’s in mute anxiety. He whispered
encouragement and bent to kiss her, then rode out to join his waiting
guide.
The second trip to the cañon was, in every way, like the first except
that it was made more quickly. When the clearing was reached and
the doctor’s eyes were unbound he saw that there was no patch of
light beyond the low shanty. “Didn’t dare leave a lamp,” explained the
man with the scar as he cautiously opened the door. After he had
peered in; listening, he entered quietly and struck a match.
The sick man was on the floor, stretched prone. His eyes were wide,
but unseeing. His breathing was laboured.
They lifted him gently and laid him on the bed. Then the doctor, coat
off, once more began his ministering, while the man with the scar
seated himself on a bench by the door and smoked. The doctor paid
the other no attention, but apparently gave his whole thought to his
patient. Nevertheless, as he worked he kept on the alert for sounds,
and, when his back was turned toward his guard, examined the wall
against which stood the head of the bed.
He noticed that which made him certain that the shanty had a
second, if a very small, room. Two of the upright foot-wide boards of
the wall had been sawed across at a height of six feet from the floor.
A few moments later he purposely dropped the cork of a bottle. As
he stooped to feel about for it he gave a quick look at the lower ends
of the sawed boards. Unlike the others in the wall, they cleared the
floor by half an inch. It was probable that they formed a narrow, blind
door; that the wall itself was a partition. He determined to be certain
about it. “Fetch me some right cold water,” he said to the man with
the scar.
For a moment the other remained seated and made no answer.
Then, “All right,” he said reluctantly and, picking up a square
kerosene can that had been fitted with a handle, went out.
The doctor waited, his eyes on his patient, his ears strained for the
sound of vanishing footsteps. He heard none. The other was
doubtless just outside, watching. The doctor walked to the table, took
a square of prepared plaster from his case and, having turned the
light down a little, laid the plaster upon the top of the globe.
The light went out. He stepped swiftly to the head of the bed and put
a hand against the blind door. It swung inward a foot or more, then
back into place again.
“Here!” The threatening voice was at the outside door, which opened
and closed with a bang. “What’re you trying to do?”
The doctor took one long stride in the direction of the speaker. “Got a
match?” he inquired innocently. “That blamed lamp went out.”
The other muttered and struck a match. When its light flashed the
doctor was standing beside the table, the square of plaster in one
hand.
“You ’tend to business!” warned the man with the scar. His thin lips
were parted in a snarl.
“Now, look-a-here,” returned the doctor; “I’ve stood all the abuse I’m
goin’ to. There ain’t another physician in this county that would a-
came out here a second time with his eyes blinded and his hands
tied—not if you had ten friends dyin’. And I expect you to show me
decent treatment.” He leaned forward across the table and looked
the other man squarely in the face.
“Last night you wanted hot water. To-night you want cold.”
“Wal, excuse me, but I’m the best judge of what the sick gent needs.
If I ain’t, why the dickens do you come after me?”
For the space of a minute they stood in silence, face to face. Then,
as if partly convinced, the man with the scar once more took up his
oil can. When his quick, shuffling steps had died away the doctor
tried another plan. He stooped over the sick man until his lips were
close to the crack that ran down the full length of the blind door, and
began to speak the name that the grief-crazed mother at the mine
had spoken: “Laurie! Laurie! Laurie!”
He listened. There was no sound within or without. He spoke again,
louder: “Laurie!”
First, a movement beyond the partition—a soft, rustling, creeping
movement. Then, close to the wall, a little, weak, long-drawn sob!
The doctor straightened, his heart pounding so furiously that it hurt
him, his face hot with the joy of his discovery. Smiling, he glanced
down.
He looked into a pair of startled eyes that were staring up at him.
“Who are you?” came the husky demand, and the sick man suddenly
lifted himself to an elbow, almost as if he were about to leap from the
bed.
The doctor could only stare back. The man was conscious. Had he
heard him? What was to be done?
Before he could frame any course of action the man with the scar
entered.
“Your friend’s lots better,” announced the doctor, turning toward the
door. “Come and see.”
“That so?” The other crossed to the foot of the bed.
“Nick,” began the sick man, speaking with great effort, “don’t you
trust anybody. You get out of here. Do you understand? Never mind
me. I’m going to die. Look at my nails.” He put out a trembling hand.
“Don’t you worry,” answered the man with the scar. “The Doc came
in blindfolded.”
“You’re taking chances,” persisted the younger man. “Go—just—
leave me—water, and—a gun.” He sank back.
“You got to keep more quiet,” said the doctor. “Here.” He lifted a cup
to the dry lips.
When he left the bedside the man with the scar followed and leaned
close. “Bill’s going to die,” he said in a low voice. “Look at his nails.”
Instead, the doctor looked at the speaker. There was a sinister light
in those little, alert eyes; a cruel twist to the thin mouth. And the
whole expression of the scarred face bespoke a sudden
determination—a fiendish determination. Bill was past saving. Soon
the cabin would be left behind. And the doctor—why let him go back
to the town?
“He’s going to die,” repeated the man with the scar. “And you know
it.”
“My friend,” answered the doctor, “I’ll tell you the truth. He ain’t got
more’n one chance in a hunderd—and that’s a pretty slim one. If he
ain’t better to-morrow I’ve got to operate.” He sat down.
The man with the scar sat down in front of him. The table was
between them. He leaned his arms on it. “Don’t take me for a fool,”
he advised.
The doctor folded his arms. “Now, look a-here,” he retorted, smiling;
“don’t take me for a fool. I know what’s the matter with you.”
At that the man with the scar rose so suddenly that his bench tipped
backward.
“Yas,” the doctor went on. “I know why you brung me here
blindfolded and what you’re hidin’.”
The right hand of the man with the scar stole to his hip.
The doctor ignored the action. He went on speaking with clear
directness: “You two fellers’ve located a gold mine. And you’ve got
the crazy idea that I’m a-goin’ to bring out a bunch of locators. Wal,
git over it. I’m not a prospector: I’m a doc.”
The hand on the weapon rested quiet. The man with the scar drew a
gasping breath. Then long and keenly he studied the face of the
doctor. After a time he dropped his arm, picked up his bench and
reseated himself.
Some little time passed. The doctor smoked and nursed a knee.
Once he got up to take the pulse of his patient and again to mark the
temperature. But his every movement was leisurely, and he showed
no wish to leave. The man with the scar sat, leaning on the table,
apparently lost in thought.
All at once he rose. “Well, come on,” he said.
Again the doctor examined the sick man. “This’ll be a bad day for
your friend,” he explained. “I’m leavin’ something to chase the pain.”
When they were ready to mount the other addressed him harshly.
“Doc,” he said, “if you and me run into anybody on our way back it’ll
be you that gets my first shot.”
“That’s a bargain,” answered the doctor good-naturedly.
But, riding out of the cañon, he felt far from confident. The previous
night his guide had led briskly. Now the mule was lagging. The
doctor found himself moving his body forward in his saddle to urge
Bobby on. They had gone only a small part of the way homeward
when the mule came to a stop. Bobby halted, too, and the doctor
waited like a man who expects a blow in the dark. He listened. The
other did not dismount. There was no audible movement ahead. But
he felt that sinister face turned upon him.
“Say, that friend of your’n has got a wonderful constitution,” he
remarked.
There was a short interval of silence. It seemed many minutes to the
doctor. Then, “Get up!” said the voice ahead.
Letty was waiting for him when he turned in at the corral gate,
though it was long past midnight. He had been under a severe strain,
but she had been under a greater. He saw that when he lifted the
lantern she brought him and looked into her face.
“Good news,” he told her, speaking low. “The baby’s there.”
Five minutes later he was back in his office once more and had Blue
Top on the telephone. “Come,” was his message. “I’ve got a clue, Mr.
Eastman. But don’t bring nobody with you.”
It seemed to him that he had only just lain down to rest when he was
up again, admitting Eastman, who had come as quick as a horse
could carry him. The father was more dishevelled than ever; and on
his haggard, unshaven face stood out the sweat of effort and anxiety.
Three days of agony had aged him.
“Oh, my boy!” were his first words.
“I know where he is, but I don’t know how to git there,” said the
doctor. Briefly he explained.
Eastman, half distracted, paced the floor as he listened. “Oh, tell me
what to do,” he cried when the doctor had finished. “My wife—it’s
killing her.”
“The medicine I left’ll keep the sick feller up till this evenin’.”
“I’ll follow you to-night, then. Oh, I must! I must! The boy’ll need me.
They dragged him over all those miles. Think of it! And wore out his
poor little legs.”
“We’ve got to go about this thing mighty careful,” warned the doctor.
“You trail me and somebody’ll be shot. Mebbe it’ll be me, mebbe it’ll
be your baby.”
The father halted before the younger man. “But how can you help
him,” he demanded, “with your hands tied?”
“Wal, I’ve thought of a scheme. The man that come after me
searched me for a pistol both nights. But he’s never looked into the
oat-bag. So, I’ll put a gun in that bag, and when I stand up from
feedin’ Bobby I’ll have the drop on him.”
“He may get you first. Then what? Oh, I’ll never see my boy again!”
“Wal, if you can think of a better way, go ahead.”
But at the end of an hour Eastman agreed with the doctor that there
was no better plan. “All right,” he said, “—all right—I’ll trust to you.
Now I must telephone my wife that there’s hope.”
When the doctor awoke early that afternoon it was to learn that Mrs.
Eastman had arrived and was at the hotel. Eastman himself called
the doctor up to announce her coming and the latter asked the
parents to remain secluded during the remainder of the day.
There was reason to believe that the kidnappers might have a
confederate on watch in the town.
But Eastman had no thought beyond the finding of his child.
“Suppose that sick man died to-day,” he said. “Won’t the other man
leave and take Laurie with him? Doctor, I think I ought to start fifty
men out on a search.”
The doctor opposed the suggestion. “Take my advice,” he urged
kindly. “Tell Mrs. Eastman to be brave.”
Eastman only groaned and hung up. But later on he telephoned
again and again, always with some fresh idea that was filling the
heart of the waiting mother with forebodings.
Letty telephoned, too. “Don’t go alone to-night,” she begged. “It’s too
dangerous.”
“I got to, Letty,” he declared. “If Eastman starts men out, which way’ll
they go? It might take ’em a week to find that shanty.”