hey climbed slowly, the man of crutches and the man with the bound-up
head.

"It's like a little bit of over there, Kemp, isn't it?"

"Yes it is, sir--many's the time I've seen them helping each
other--master and man."

When they got to the house, they found Madge on the sofa, and Mrs.
Flippin bending over her. "My husband has gone for the doctor," she told
the Major. "I think the blood comes from her hand; she must have put it
up to save her face."

"I bent my head," murmured Madge, "and my hat was broad. Think what
might have happened if I had worn a little hat."

She had started the sentence lightly but she stopped with a gasp of
pain. "Oh--my foot----" she said, "the pain--is--dreadful----"

The Major drew up a chair, and handed his crutches to Randy. "If you'll
let us take off your shoe, it might help till the doctor comes."

She fainted dead away while they did it, and came back to life to find
her foot bandaged, and her uncut hand held in the firm clasp of the man
with the crutches. He was regarding her with grave gray eyes, but his
face lighted as she looked up at him.

"Drink this," he told her. "The doctor is on the way, and I think it
will help the pain until he comes."

She liked his voice--it had a deep and musical quality. She was glad he
was there. Something in his strength seemed to reach out to her and
give her courage.

When the pain began again, he gave her another drink from the glass, and
when she drifted off, she came back to the echo of a softly-whistled
tune.

"I beg your pardon," the Major said as she opened her eyes; "it is a bad
habit that I permit myself when I have things on my mind. My men said
they always knew by the tune I whistled the mood I was in. And that
there was only one tune they were afraid of."

"What was that?"

"'Good-night, Ladies----'" He threw back his head and laughed. "When I
began on that they knew it was all up with them----"

She tried to laugh with him, but it was a twisted grin. "Oh," she said
and began to tremble. She saw his eyes melt to tenderness. "Oh, you poor
little thing."

She was conscious after that of the firm hand which held hers. The deep
voice which soothed. Through all that blinding agony she was conscious
of his call to courage--she wondered if he had called his men like
that--over there----

When the doctor came, he shook his head. "We'd better keep her here. She
is in no condition to be moved to Hamilton Hill, not over these roa