MR. BELLMORE
Dave Carson had some knowledge of rough and ready first-aid work. There was often occasion for it on the ranch, and though fainting men were not common sights, still, now and again, such a contingency would arise. Cowboys often get severely hurt, and it is not always within the nerve power of a man to hold back when a deathly faintness overcomes him.
"I've got to get help to tote you back to the ranch," Dave said, as he sprinkled some water from his canteen in the face of the stranger.
"You've got to be looked after. Maybe the ankle's broken."
He glanced at the injured foot, but did not offer to touch it, for he knew how sensitive it must be, when even a slight movement sent the man off in a faint.
The water had the desired effect, or perhaps the faint was only a slight one, for presently the man opened his eyes, looked about him in some wonder, and murmured:
"Oh, I remember now. Was it last year I tried to fall over the cliff?" He smiled wanly.
"No, it was only a little while ago-or at least it was only a little while ago that I pulled you back," Dave said. "I don't know how long you had been hanging there, though."
"It seemed ten years," was the answer given with another wan smile. "Well, what's the next move? I hope it isn't mine, for I don't know how I can manage it. My ankle is either broken, or badly sprained."
"I'm afraid so," Dave answered. "Now I don't know where you came from, or where you're going, but our ranch—Bar U—is the nearest place you can get help. I can put you on my horse—I guess I can manage that—and walk with you, but it will take a long time. Crow won't carry double, I'm afraid. Certainly not with the way I'd have to put you on."