While the fresh water came to a boil he squinted repeatedly at the opened can, half rifled of its fragrant brown slices. He did not see the impish glances she threw at him. Nor, when he brought the hot water, the tobacco, and more handkerchiefs, did he spy the laughing light in the demurely downcast eyes.
With utmost care, though with necessary firmness, he bound the hot-water-soaked slices around the swollen ankle. Then he poured more hot water on the bandages until, despite herself, she flinched and drew up the foot.
“That’ll do, I reckon,” he said. “Lucky I have plenty of handkerchiefs. That’s one thing I’m a crank about—plenty of clean handkerchiefs and socks. Now I’ll warm up some beans a la can.”
“Don’t you want a smoke?” she teased.
“Well, since the tobacco’s all gone, I do,” he frankly admitted. “However——”
“Then fill your pipe!” And from under the blanket-edge she produced the missing slices.
“Well, you—you——” he stuttered.
“Now don’t you call me a dam-sell again, mister! You stuff your pipe and have a good smoke.”
He scowled, grinned, laughed, produced a stubby briar, and obeyed orders.
“I’ve a large mind to spank you,” he threatened, between puffs. “But I never like to pick on a cripple. So instead I’ll condemn you to stay here all night.”