and waited for the
beat, and her face seemed like one of listening. She leaned down and
lifted his other arm and hand from the water, and as their ice-coldness
reached her senses, clearly she saw the patch near the shoulder she
had moved grow wet with new blood, and at that sight she grasped at the
stones upon which she herself now sank. She held tight by two rocks,
sitting straight beside him, staring, and murmuring aloud, "I must
not faint; I will not faint;" and the standing horses looked at her,
pricking their ears.

In this cup-like spread of the ravine the sun shone warmly down, the
tall red cliff was warm, the pines were a warm film and filter of green;
outside the shade across Bear Creek rose the steep, soft, open yellow
hill, warm and high to the blue, and Bear Creek tumbled upon its
sunsparkling stones. The two horses on the margin trail still looked
at the spring and trees, where sat the neat flaxen girl so rigid by the
slack prone body in its flannel shirt and leathern chaps. Suddenly her
face livened. "But the blood ran!" she exclaimed, as if to the horses,
her companions in this. She moved to him, and put her hand in through
his shirt against his heart.

Next moment she had sprung up and was at his saddle, searching, then
swiftly went on to her own and got her small flask and was back beside
him. Here was the cold water he had sought, and she put it against his
forehead and drenched the wounded shoulder with it. Three times she
tried to move him, so he might lie more easy, but his dead weight was
too much, and desisting, she sat close and raised his head to let it
rest against her. Thus she saw the blood that was running from in front
of the shoulder also; but she said no more about fainting. She tore
strips from her dress and soaked them, keeping them cold and wet upon
both openings of his wound, and she drew her pocket-knife out and cut
his shirt away from the place. As she continually rinsed and cleaned
it, she watched his eyelashes, long and soft and thick, but they did not
stir. Again she tried the flask, but failed from being still too gentle,
and her searching eyes fell upon ashes near the pool. Still undispersed
by the weather lay the small charred ends of a fire he and she had made
once here together, to boil coffee and fry trout. She built another fire
now, and when the flames were going well, filled her flask-cup from the
spring and set it to heat. Meanwhile, she returned to nurse his head
and