a bit, but awfully scared," she panted. Then she shrieked,
"Oh, oh, oh, Jack, you are wounded, you are bleeding!"

He looked down at his hand. It was dripping blood. "Oh, oh," she moaned,
covering her face with her hands. Then springing to her feet, she caught
up his hand in hers.

"It is nothing at all," he said. "I feel nothing. Only a bit of skin.
See," he cried, lifting his arm up. "There's nothing to it. No broken
bones."

"Let me see, Jack--Mr. Romayne," she said with white lips.

"Say 'Jack,'" he begged.

"Let me take off your coat--Jack, then. I know a little about this. I
have done something at it in Winnipeg."

Together they removed the coat. The shirt sleeve was hanging in a
tangled, bloody mass from the arm.

"Awful!" groaned Kathleen. "Sit down."

"Oh, nonsense, it is not serious."

"Sit down, Jack, dear," she entreated, clasping her hands about his
sound arm.

"Say it again," said Jack.

"Oh, Jack, won't you sit down, please?"

"Say it again," he commanded sternly.

"Oh, Jack, dear, please sit down," she cried in a pitiful voice.

He sat down, then lay back reclining on his arm. "Now your knife, Jack,"
she said, feeling hurriedly through his pockets.

"Here you are," he said, handing her the knife, biting his lips the
while and fighting back a feeling of faintness.

Quickly slipping behind him, she whipped off her white petticoat and
tore it into strips. Then cutting the bloody shirt sleeve, she laid bare
the arm. The wound was superficial. The shot had torn a wide gash little
deeper than the skin from wrist to shoulder, with here and there a bite
into the flesh. Swiftly, deftly, with fingers that never fumbled, she
bandaged the arm, putting in little pads where the blood seemed to be
pumping freely.

"That's fine," said Jack. "You are a brick, Kathleen. I think--I
will--just lie down--a bit. I feel--rather rotten." As he spoke he
caught hold of her arm to steady himself. She caught him in her arms and
eased him down upon the stubble. With eyes closed and a face that looked
like death he lay quite still.

"Jack," she cried aloud in her terror. "Don't faint. You must not
faint."

But white and ghastly he lay unconscious, the blood still welling right
through the bandages on his wounded arm. She knew that in some way
she must stop the bleeding. Swiftly she undid the bandages and found a
pumping artery in the forearm. "What is it that they do?" she said to
herself. Then she remembere