CHAPTER III
IT NEVER RAN SMOOTH.
“You’re not killed, are you?� she sobbed, trying to stanch the flow of blood that trickled from a gash at the edge of his hair near his temple.
“If I am,� he returned, with a feeble effort to jest, “I don’t know it yet.�
“But you’re hurt. You struck on your head.�
“Probably that saved my life. Solid ivory, you know. I will admit that I feel a trifle upset, so to speak. No, don’t move—please don’t! The mere thought of your moving gives me pain.â€�
“But I must go for help. You’re wounded.�
“I am,� he admitted, gazing up into her blue eyes in a manner that gave her a most peculiar sensation. “Mortally wounded. I fear. I never was hit so hard in my life, and I am afraid I can’t recover.�
Again she cried out in apprehension and distress. “Oh, I was afraid you were done for when that beast caught you!�
“I am,� was his singularly cheerful acknowledgment; “I’m done for. I’ve got mine. The jig is up with me.�
“Is it your arms, your legs? Your ribs—are they smashed? Where do you feel it most?â€�