“Move your arm a little—that way.”
She did so with a groan.
“Good—there ain’t nothin’ broke.”
He soaked the handkerchief in cold water and tied up the arm with astonishing skill. Then he fashioned a sling with the other handkerchief, and carefully bent her arm and tucked it inside the latter.
“How’s that?”
She smiled gratefully.
“It seems much easier.”
“Sure! It’ll be fine in a day or two. You sit down here and I’ll git some tea.”
Without waiting to see this order obeyed, he ran to the stove and poked the fire into a blaze. The singing kettle began to boil, and a few minutes later they were having tea.
She watched him carefully, and knew that the loss of the dogs was worrying him. Yet he had 254 made so light of that, and so much of her comparatively trivial injury!