'No, no; he'll not die easily—he's tough stuff; but he's got two ugly wounds, and we'll have to handle him fine and gently. Pull yourself up, Aurora dear.' She wound her strong arms fondly about the girl and kissed her cheek, and, with a restraining arm still about her, led her into the tent.
Jim Done lay on Mary Kyley's comfortable white bed. His face was ghastly. Aurora uttered a little cry of pain and terror at the sight of him. There was blood upon the sheets and the pillows, and Wat Ryder, working in his shirt-sleeves, was deftly closing a gaping scalp wound with horsehair stitches.
Ryder had carried Jim straight to Kyley's tent, and Mrs. Ben received the wounded man with open arms.
'We may be followed,' he said. 'I've brought him out of the thick of it. Keep watch, please, and give me warning if you see anything of the troopers. May I use your bed?'
'My bed! Yes, and my blood and bones if they're any good to you.'
'Your eyes can do me better service. I'm a done man if the police lay a hand on me, and Jim here needs attention.'
'Then, go to work with an easy mind.'
So Mary kept watch while Ryder worked over Jim with the quickness and decision of a surgeon. It was not the first time by many that he had dealt with ugly wounds.
'Don't neglect the watch,' he said, a minute after Aurora's entrance.
Mary looked at Aurora. The girl was now apparently quite composed; she had cast aside the shawl, and was hastily tying on an apron. So Mrs. Kyley slipped out again, quite reassured.