Carl stepped into the road. In a cloud of dust a horse and buggy was approaching at a mad gallop.
“It’s Joe!” he exclaimed.
Eleanor smoothed back the hair from her brow and forced herself to sit up. If a moment before her face had lacked color it did not now. With Carl she watched the nearing carriage with an interest that almost made her forget her pain.
Barnes drew up the horse with a suddenness that brought it to its hind legs. Before it had fairly stopped he had leaped out, run across the road, and knelt by her side.
“Thank God!” he exclaimed, as he met her smile. “You’re not badly hurt?”
“No, but Carl—”
He turned as though for the first time conscious that the other was here.
“He has hurt his arm,” she said. “I guess he saved my life.”
“But you are all whole? You aren’t cut or broken—”
“Only just bruised,” she answered, “but Carl—I’m afraid he’s broken his arm.”