She ran to the stream, and brought him a cupful of water; and another; and while he drank the second, she picked up his revolver, and carried it to a stone fully as far away as it had been when he crawled for it. He was on the point of calling her back, but thought better of it; to have done that would only have confirmed her suspicions.
“Now then, sir!” she began. “Your leg.”
“What about it?”
“We’ve got to set it.”
“That’s absurd!”
“Why is it absurd?”
“You can’t do it, in the first place.”
“But I can. I’ve seen my father do it.”
“It won’t heal––in the fix we’re in.”
“We’ll do our best,” she rejoined bravely.