“I expect I did too much after I strained the ankle,” the man admitted gravely. “That’s why it is so bad now. But when a man’s alone——”
“Yes. When he is alone,” repeated Ruth, eyeing him thoughtfully.
He was a young man and as roughly dressed as any of the teamsters at Freezeout Camp. There was, too, several days’ growth of beard upon his face. But he was a good looking chap, with rather a humorous cast of countenance. And Ruth was quite sure that he was educated and at present in a strange environment.
“Have you plenty of water?” she asked suddenly, for she had seen the spring several rods away.
“Lots,” declared “the hermit.” “See! I’ve a drip.”
He pointed with pride to the arrangement of a rude shelf beside the head of his bunk with a twenty-quart galvanized pail upon it. A pin-hole had been punched in this pail near the bottom, and the water dripped from the aperture steadily into a pint cup on the floor.
“Would you believe it,” he said, with a smile, “the water, after falling so far through the air, is quite cooled.”
“What do you do when the pail is empty?” the girl asked quickly.
“Oh! I shall be able to hobble to the spring by that time. If the cup gets full and I don’t need the water, I pour it back.”
Ruth stood on tiptoe and looked into the pail. Then she brought water from the spring in her own canteen, making several trips, and filled the pail to the brim.