“I’m ’bleeged to you. ’Twas a acks’dent, the way it happened. I war behint the tree, an’ they didn’t see me tell I stepped out, an’ then the arrer war a-comin’, an’ it war too late to be holped.”
“Then one of the arrows struck you, as I feared!” growled Browning. “Do you think you are much hurt? Perhaps you had better make an examination. The wound seems to be bleeding pretty freely.”
She drew the sleeve down, as if to hide the telltale color.
“Plenty time fur that when I git home, which, ef I ever git thar, I’d better be humpin’ myself along, too!”
Again she moved as if to start down the path, but was checked by Browning’s words:
“You are in no condition to go alone, Miss—Miss——”
“My name’s Nell Thornton,” she said, coloring slightly, “ef that is what you mean. But these hyar mounting people don’t waste no breath a-sayin’ of miss an’ mister.”
Still, Browning could see that she was pleased.
“Miss Thornton,” he said, holding the cap, from which the water still dripped, “permit me to introduce myself. My name is Bruce Browning, and I belong with Frank Merriwell’s party, which arrived in Glendale only the day before yesterday. We have become members of the Lake Lily Athletic Club since, and it may be that the arrow which struck you was shot by one of my friends, for they are taking part in the archery shoot up on the hill.”
It was a very long speech for Bruce Browning, as he himself realized, but it slipped off his tongue very easily, under the circumstances.