Harry had never seen a person faint, and for a moment she hung over Rob, staring at him. The sight of his familiar face, bloodless under the tan, so solemn, quiet, and strange, filled her heart with a passion of remorse. What ought she to do?
The only restorative at hand was cold water. She bathed Rob's forehead, rubbed his hands, and tried to force a drink between his teeth.
Then unexpectedly Rob stirred, opened his eyes, drew a slow breath, and smiled.
"All right, sis," he murmured. "—Just rest a while."
Harry smiled back; then she ran outside the tent and burst into tears.
"I must get a doctor," she murmured, when she got control of herself.
Returning to the tent, she bathed and bandaged her brother's wounds. The cut on his scalp was bleeding steadily, though slowly; the bruise at the base of his skull was swollen and throbbing. He was quite conscious now, but very weak and dizzy from pain; and, although he answered her when she spoke, he evidently wanted to rest and sleep.
"How in the world am I ever to go after a doctor?" she thought desperately. "I can't harness the team or even put a saddle on the pony. If I had only, only learned! I suppose I shall have to walk to Robinson's and get them to go to Soldier for me. It means leaving Rob alone for hours. How can I ever do it?"
Tears blinded her as she stared down at him.