Left alone with Harding, she never ceased until she had the wound stanched, cleansed, and properly bound up.
"There is brandy in that flask, Fred. Mix about a tablespoonful in three times as much water."
He brought her the stuff in a pannikin, believing it was for herself.
"Raise his head gently," she said, and slowly poured the mixture between the old man's nerveless lips.
Without a pause she turned to Durham and had the ugly wound on his scalp laid bare. Snipping the hair away from it, she lightly touched the bruised skin surrounding the jagged cut.
"I'm afraid the skull is fractured—I hope the doctor will soon be here," she whispered, as she busied herself with the cotton-wool and red-labelled bottle.
By the time she had Durham's head bandaged, Gale and the trooper returned, carrying the door from one of the huts.
"There are two huts with a single bunk in each, and one with four," Gale said.
"Use the two with the single bunks," she said. "When are the others coming from the township?"
"They're coming along the road now," the trooper answered.