"Don't bother about me," he said. "I'll be better—right away."
His whole body seemed to relax suddenly as he ceased speaking, and he closed his eyes again. Cherry remained crouching upon one knee beside the cot, her eyes upon his face, one of her hands still under his head, where she had placed it when she helped him to drink, the other hand on the coverlet, her fingers touching his arm.
Half consciously she allowed her hand to creep down until her fingers were pressing lightly against the pulse in his wrist. It was very fast, but quite strong. Even after she had ceased to observe the pulse-beat she allowed her fingers to remain half circling his stout wrist. Then she moved her hand over his and caught his fingers in her own. She glanced behind her—old Gabe had gone out of the room. For one long moment she allowed her hand to rest upon his, and then her fingers tightened slowly and her head bowed towards him.
His lips moved, and Cherry listened breathlessly for any word he might speak.
"I'll go back—stay here—Anne," he muttered. "Here you—Sal—come here. Steady up—you fool."
His voice trailed off into incoherent mutterings. Then he lay still and his breathing became even, though Cherry, in spite of her inexperience, knew that it was very quick and weak.
Once more she removed the cloth from his head, and washing it in cold water, replaced it again and pressed it down softly with her fingers.
Then she went out to where old Gabe Smith was standing in the doorway of the cabin. For a long time they stood together in silence, their eyes turned towards the trail where it came out of cover of the shrubbery and entered the camp.
"There's no use looking for her yet," said Cherry.
"No, she'll do well if she gets here much before supper," Gabe replied.