Marian drew a long breath; then, “Jennie, stop crying, so you can help me,” she said. “Esther, sit down there and get your breath. Where is Davie? Where did he fall?”
“Down by Little Pig Cove. He wouldn’t go in the path, and he tried to jump and he fell, and Dellie stayed with him.”
Marian pressed her hands tightly to her temples for a moment, and in that moment thought of all that she could do.
“Esther,” she said, “fold that blanket to take back with us. Did Delbert have his good lariat with him? Yes? Then see if you can find another stick like this out in the pile. Jennie, hold this jar so I can pour what water is in the demijohn into it. There, it isn’t full, but we can’t stop to go for more now.”
Esther appeared with the two sticks. Marian made a bundle of their old ragged clothes and gave it to Jennie to carry; then, taking the jar of water and the blanket, she followed Esther’s lead as fast as she could.
When they got back to where the boys were, they found Davie still lying where he fell, sobbing, but not quite so wildly as at first.
Delbert, white-faced and shaken still, crouched beside him.
Marian examined the child as well as she could. The cut on the head was already ceasing to bleed, and the other scratches and bumps, ugly though they were, did not alarm her, but at sight of that little crooked leg her heart sank. How could she set a bone? She mistrusted that the under arm was injured too, and goodness only knew how much more.
She set Jennie and Delbert to making a stretcher out of the two sticks and the blanket, while she and Esther hunted up some sticks as nearly straight as they could find to make a temporary splint for the leg, till they could get back to the wickiup.
Every time they moved the leg, Davie screamed and beat at them with his good arm. He made no attempt to move the other one. At last Marian ordered Jennie and Esther to hold him and his pugnacious little arm, while she and Delbert managed the leg.