Then she knelt beside him, rubbing his wrists and cheeks with her grimy palms. For some minutes her ministrations seemed of no avail. But presently, under her fingers she felt his head move. At first she could only catch groans and sighs. Then, as consciousness began to assert itself, Bill raised his head a little and said faintly:
“Who’s that?”
“It’s me—Dorothy.”
She lifted his head into her lap. As she did so Bill gave a start and struggled feebly.
“Let me go!” he muttered. “Let me alone!”
“Just keep quiet, Bill,” she soothed. “You’ll be better soon.”
Bill lay back in her arms and was still.
“Who are you?” he asked again and this time in a firmer voice.
“It’s Dorothy, your pardner!”
“Dorothy? Thank Heaven for that.” He caught at her hand and squeezed it. “We’re in the tunnel, aren’t we?”