"We'll have to stop here," he said. "I can't go farther."
"Is there any need?" Alison asked.
"I don't know. I guess not. Anyhow, here we are." His legs seemed to double under him, and he sank down slowly, and sat in the snow. "The thickets would hide our fire if we wanted to build one," he observed.
Without a word she left him to hunt through the timber, and returned presently with her arms full of down wood. She built up a little teepee of dry sticks, lighted a match, and almost at once had a cheerful fire blazing in the sheltered covert. Then she unstrapped the pack she had brought with her, brought out a pair of blankets, and spread them on the ground.
"Now," she said with a troubled glance—"what are we going to do about your shoulder?"
"It seems to be the upper arm, near the shoulder socket," he observed, feeling with tentative fingers. "Do you suppose you could help me off with my jacket?"
She gave him the needed assistance, and afterwards slit his shirt sleeve with her knife, to expose the bruised, swollen flesh of his arm. "I don't see how you stood it," she murmured.
Dexter was examining the broken member with critical concern. "Simple fracture," was his diagnosis. "Splints and bandages, and we'll make out." He picked up three or four tough hardwood sticks that were left over from the fire kindling. "These'll do nicely." He regarded her questioningly. "Do you think you could hang on to my elbow while I pull? Or, if you'd rather, we'll strap my hand to a sapling, and I can do my stretching for myself."
"I think I can—help," she said. "We'll try."
The corporal made his few simple arrangements, instructed his companion in the part she was to play, and then nodded to indicate that he was ready. She took hold of his arm, closing her eyes, and holding tightly.