Then her Indian stoicism failed her, and she uttered a groan and fainted.
"Poor thing," muttered Stella. "Poor, wounded, wild thing. Here lies the wild wolf 'dying in the sun,' as the song says. I wonder if she knew the song."
But by this time she had opened the tunic and saw a bullet wound on the brown skin, through which the blood was oozing steadily.
She stood up and looked around for a water sign, and not far away discovered a little clump of willows, which advertised a spring.
She hurried to it and filled her hat to the brim with the cool fluid and rushed back to the wounded Indian girl, who had not yet recovered from her fainting fit.
Stella bathed her head, washed her wound, and then poured some of the water between her lips.
At that the girl opened her eyes, and, with another smile, opened her lips as if to speak.
"Rest now, dear," said Stella, with so much pity and love in her voice that the girl could only smile once more, and gratefully close her eyes.
It did not take Stella long to improvise bandages from some of her own garments, which she tore into strips, and bound up the wound so that it stopped bleeding at last.
Another drink of water so refreshed the Indian girl that she tried to rise, but Stella gently forced her back, and told her to rest.