CHAPTER IX
NORA GIVES SERVICE
Honora was an unconscious lover of Nature. She turned and beheld the sun slowly sinking.
"Ah! it must be nearly six o'clock," she thought. "I must make haste," but she stood spellbound, watching the glowing crimson, purple and yellow changing into orange, green, and greyish pink, and she gazed at the fiery ball sinking slowly behind the hills.
"How lovely!" she thought, "and it's gone down in a cloud. That means rain. It's growing very dark. Me for a quick walk down these hills before I lose my way."
She started down the path not a little worried. She had strayed off the main road and was on a side one leading through the woods. If only it would keep light until she reached Camp, and then if she could strike the broad road she'd be all right.
Walking rapidly through the woods she suddenly fancied that she hard a low moan, as though from someone in pain.
"It's a tramp perhaps," she thought. "He may be in trouble. Well, tramp or no tramp I must help him. I'll see."
Unafraid, Nora walked to the spot whence the cry had proceeded. Her eye fell upon an object huddled together on the ground. As it was out of the beaten path she stepped from branches and logs to stones and rocks before she reached it. She stooped down and gazed at it intently; then she uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"It's Miss Ethel!" she gasped. "God help her."
She was right. There lay Ethel Hollister—the girl who had never liked her—the girl from whom, no matter how hard she might try, Nora could get nothing beyond a cool "Thank you very much, Nora."
From the arm of this young woman trickled a stream of bright, red blood.
Honora wondered if she was dead. She gently shook her.
"Miss Ethel!" she called once and twice, "Are ye much hurt?" Then she half lifted her to a sitting posture and Ethel opened her eyes.
"Oh, Miss Casey—Honora!" she gasped feebly. "Thank God it is you who have found me. I have been so frightened. Two men were searching for me. I passed them on the road before my horse took fright and threw me. I heard them say: 'It must be the same girl. She rode a white horse. Now I know who she is. She's the niece of John Hollister. Her father is a rich New Yorker. We can sell the horse. We've got him safe, and we can keep the girl for a ransom. Probably she's injured and is lying somewhere around here.' Nora, I dared not breathe lest they should find me. I prayed to God as I've never prayed before to let them pass me and to send me help. He has answered my prayer and I'm grateful. When I heard your footsteps I thought they had returned. Oh! I am so glad that it's you," and she burst into tears.
Nora knelt down and took her by the hand.
"Where is your pain, my dear?" she asked.
"My leg. I guess it must be broken, and my arm—-I have had that nearly cut off. The horse became frightened and unmangeable. He turned into these woods and started to run. I was knocked off by the branch of a tree. I don't know how long I've lain here—it seems for hours. I must have fainted, but Nora the pain in my arm and leg is terrible. Whatever can we do?"
The girl's hat hung from the tree. Her hair was unloosed and hanging about her face. Evidently she was suffering agony, and to make matters worse upon the leaves overhead Nora heard a pattering of rain.
"This will never do," she said to herself. Not a sign of a house or a vehicle in sight. A damp chill pervaded the air. They were too far from the main road to seek assistance.
"Your arm has been cut by this jagged stone, Miss Ethel," said Nora, kneeling and starting to roll from the girl's arm the sleeve of her blouse. "I don't think there are any bones broken. But first I must stop its bleeding."
Nora, having had considerable experience with cuts, wounds and bruises, went to work as though she were about to teach the girls "first aid."
Her handkerchief was soiled. Ethel had lost hers. Both women wore silk petticoats. How could she manage to secure a bandage?
Suddenly her mother wit came to the rescue. She slipped off her linen skirt. It was perfectly clean. With her strong teeth she tore into strips the front breadth.
"Hark!" she exclaimed. "Glory be to God! I think I hear running water." She said it devoutly and in gratitude, for now it was water that she needed. Taking Ethel's hat from the tree she started up the road where to her joy she beheld a watering trough that was fed by a little waterfall trickling down the side of the rocks.
After thoroughly washing the long linen strips so as to be sure that the starch was out of them she filled Ethel's hat with water and hurried back.
"Here, dearie," she said, "Let me wash your face. I brought the water in your hat," and with the balance of her skirt she washed the girl's face and then proceeded to tear open the sleeve, cleansing the wound with a fresh hatful of water. She did it carefully and thoroughly, with the skill of a surgeon. It was an ugly wound, but she bound the arm firmly with the strips.
"There now! So much for that," ejaculated Nora, rising and pushing back from her brow one curly lock that always insisted upon falling over her eyes.
"Oh, Honora! you are an angel," exclaimed Ethel, "and I have always been so unfriendly."
Nora appeared not to hear but went on:
"Can you stand, my dear?" she asked.
"No," sobbed the girl, "I guess my leg must be broken. However are we to reach Camp? Oh, Nora, for God's sake don't leave me. I should die of fright were you to do so, and the men may be hiding near even now. Don't go, I beseech. I know I am selfish and I've been unkind to you, but forgive me, Nora. I'll be your slave after this if only you'll stay with me. Don't go for help. Just stay here until I die," and the girl fell to sobbing.
"I'm cold," she murmured—"I'm so chilly, Nora," and she shivered.
Quickly Nora removed her heavy white sweater that she had just put on, and raising Ethel to a sitting posture she first put in her good arm. Then she fastened the sweater about the girl's neck.
"There, dear, that will keep you warm, and I'll not be after leaving you—never fear—not if we stay together all night in these woods. But I must think how we can manage with you and your injuries. Faith it's raining and you may catch your death."
"And I have your sweater on, Nora!" exclaimed Ethel. "Oh, how selfish I am."
"Keep still," replied Nora. "I couldn't wear it now, for I'm going to try and carry you home."
For a moment Nora gazed tentatively at Ethel. Then suddenly there appeared a dawn of hope in her strong honest face.
"Miss Ethel, listen," she began. "When a child did ye ever play pig-a-back? Perhaps I might get you home that way."
"Yes, Nora. Papa always carried me up to bed that way," and the girl burst into tears.
"Ye mustn't cry," said Nora. "If ye do I shan't be able to carry ye. Now wipe your pretty eyes and help me carry ye as Papa used to. Forget your pain and try to be patient, for, Ethel, we must reach camp some way. Doubtless they are searching for us even now, but this is a side road far from the main one. They'll never think to look here, nor could they hear us were we of call. And then those men you spoke of. They may be near. There's no time to lose. Get on my back and cling for dear life."
Nora had great sense. She realized that until she had thoroughly frightened Ethel she would not exert herself and forget her pain. Then, too, if what she had told her were true, the men might really be lying in wait to capture the supposed wealthy New York girl.
Sitting on the ground with her back before Ethel she first gently raised the wounded arm, bringing the other one around to meet it. Thanks to the low branch of a tree and to Nora's recent physical culture exercises, making an almost superhuman effort she arose with her burden on her back. Then grasping the girl's knees she held them firmly, thereby supporting her injured leg, and started for the road, stopping now and then by a fence or stone to take breath and rest. On and on in that failing light she bravely walked.
As she descended the hill she seemed to have gained new strength. Now and then she'd speak cheering words to the wounded girl, trying to encourage her to bear her pain. The rain pelted in Honora's face, often blinding her. The thunder rolled and the lightning played, but she showed no sign of faltering. Onward she went, even faster.
Soon to her joy she beheld the main road, and after a few more rods a light from the Camp Fire.
"Shure," she thought, "now I know why men in olden times looked for the fire from their camps. It does cheer a body and give them new life."
She was ready to drop when she reached Camp. Ethel was no light weight. While in Camp she had gained, and now she weighed nearly a hundred and thirty-seven pounds. As Nora neared home she saw parties of men about to start on searching tours. They had sent word by Mr. Adams to Harvey, and there he and his patrol stood ready to start. Uncle John with the second party were there as well. In some way the horse had escaped from the two men and had returned to Camp, but without Ethel. Then they knew that she had been thrown. And as for Nora, something dreadful must have happened to her, for Nora was so strong and self-reliant.
A shout rent the air when they beheld Nora Casey drenched to the skin, hatless, coatless, with nearly all of her skirt missing, and carrying on her back a hysterical, shrieking girl, while with no apparent effort she walked steadily towards them. Harvery Bigelow's admiration for one so strong and courageous showed itself on every line of his face.
Uncle John took Ethel from Nora and laid her on the Camp bed that had been brought from the tent.
"By Jove!" ejaculated Harvey as he examined Ethel's ankle and pronounced it a compound fracture, "you're all right, Miss Casey, first to staunch the blood and bandage her arm, and second to bind her ankle in such a surgeon-like manner, say nothing of carrying her on your back for over a mile and a half and holding her leg so that you saved her pain. I take off my hat to you, Miss Casey. You have the nerve and strength of a man."
"I don't see," said Uncle John, "how in the name of heaven you managed to raise her, wounded as she was, upon your back—let alone bringing her through the pouring rain a dark night like this. Why! it's been a regular thunder shower. I'm glad that her mother knows nothing of it."
Nora sighed. She was very tired. Miss Kate came forward and put her arm around her.
"My dear, you are an honor to the Camp Fires. We owe a vote of thanks to this brave girl," and taking Nora's face between her hands she kissed her affectionately.
"I've done nothing wonderful," replied Nora simply, taking her sweater from Patty Sands. "Luckily I heard her moan and found her. I couldn't go away and leave her helpless and alone in a blinding storm, and two men waiting to seize her." Then she told Ethel's story of the conversation that she had overheard.
"Nor could we stay in the woods over night alone."
A buckboard appeared and Mrs. Hollister jumped out. She had heard of the accident through Mr. Adams and had made him bring her up.
After seeing Ethel for a few moments she rushed out and threw her arms about Nora.
"You are a dear brave girl," she sobbed, kissing her. "You have saved
Ethel's life. Never while I live shall I forget it."
"Nor I," broke in Uncle John, grasping the hands of the girl. "Miss Nora, you're a fine young woman and you're father has cause to be proud of his daughter."
"Miss Nora," ejaculated Harvey, "allow me to congratulate you. You're a dead game sport," and he wrung her hands heartily, after which Teddy Kip grasped her by the arm saying:
"Why, Miss Casey, you're a regular Scout—you are, and no mistake."
Nora smiled faintly.
"Thank you all," she said. "I am very tired. I think I shall go to bed.
Good night."