ad and propped it, as comfortably as she might, upon one thigh, and
opened his flannel shirt. The ball had passed through, for back and
front the shirt became immediately wetter with fresh blood. Blood
sickened her, but she whipped off the coat of her boyish riding-habit
and wrenched the sleeves from her linen blouse. They were desperately
scant, yet they provided pads with which to check that dreadful oozing.
And when they were in place she turned again to bathing his forehead.

A folded sheet of paper came to view when she tried once to ease his
heavy body from the position which was numbing her leg, and she seized
upon it fiercely. It was only a brief line, bidding him come to her,
but it bore her name. With instant, bodiless clarity which had marked
all her mental processes so far, its purport was hers. She had not
written--the hand that had traced her signature had been unstrung for
once. She understood, though such knowledge seemed of little moment
now.

She kept the pads cold and wet; she went for fresh water and stumbled
and fell more than once, because of the treacherous footing in the
deepening shadows. But she was no longer afraid of the dark; she had
grown to fear Big Louie less, even though there was no help for Big
Louie any more. It was the first time that Barbara had looked upon the
face of a man who had died in violence. Big Louie's face was growing
indistinct now, but she knew that he was smiling--knew that his eyes
were dreamy and mild. Death, like Life, had been a quite
incomprehensible puzzle to that slow-witted one who had no name. But
he had smiled seldom in life. In death his smile was almost childish,
almost sweet, and questioning beyond all else.

Alone with him who still lived, the pallid girl sat and waited and
wondered how long--or how soon--it would be. But she wasn't afraid
now. They were his hills; it was his wilderness. And could any harm
come out of them equal to separation from him? This was only the
beginning of one night of darkness, and Miss Sarah had endured with
patience and bravery through a whole lifetime of days and nights as
black. "Your face was the first . . . it will be the last thing I'll
see, as long as there is sight in my eyes!" had been his words to her.
She waited and she prayed shamelessly for herself--for one more
chance--as Miss Sarah had said women always prayed. But he was looking
at her, when she opened her eyes after a long and incoherent a