Without a word, Mansfield dashed toward the point indicated. The others followed less rapidly, for that singular fear of the mysterious being forsook them not, even at the last moment. A few rods brought them to the spot.
That personage, known as the Frontier Angel in these pages, was sitting upon one of the trees, felled by the choppers, her hand pressed to her forehead, and her elbows resting upon her knees. She sat perfectly motionless, and a sickening fear that she was already dead took possession of Mansfield. The blood could be seen dropping from her face down upon one of her moccasins, which was clotted and stained with it. She did not look up as our friends approached, and Mansfield paused before her and asked:
"Are you hurt much?"
"Oh! I feel wretched—"
Mansfield sprang forward and caught her head as she fainted. The sight made even the hardy rangers shudder. A rough wound was seen at the temple, from which a great amount of blood had issued. Her dark, waving hair hung loose around her shoulders, while her half-closed eyes gave an unearthly terror to her countenance.
"Quick! water! she has fainted!" exclaimed Mansfield.
"'Quick! water; she has fainted,' exclaimed Mansfield."
Peterson sprang away, and in an instant returned with a jug of water which had been brought by the woodmen in the morning for their use. Mansfield sprinkled some in her face, and in a moment she revived. Dingle, with ready wit, had prepared a bandage by tearing his hunting-shirt to shreds, and this was carefully bound over her forehead.
"She must be taken to the block-house at once. Bear a hand, friends," said Mansfield to the two rangers who were looking on. That absurd fear made them hesitate for a moment; but, as if ashamed of their weakness at such a time, they sprang forward and made amends by sustaining her entire weight themselves.