Madeline said not a word as she hastened to Norman's side, and looked down anxiously into his face. She had hoped to behold some sign of returning consciousness, to see him look up and recognise her. But she saw no change, nothing but that deep, terrible stupor which seemed so much like death.
Dan had carefully washed the wound and applied bandages which the Indian woman had procured from a small closet where the missionary kept his medical supplies. It was a rough, clumsy bandage, but Madeline felt grateful to the trapper for the trouble he had taken. She little knew how anxiously he had examined the wound, washed it, and applied some soothing oil he found among the neatly arranged bottles on the shelf. His hands had trembled as he wound the bandages around Grey's head, and he wondered why his fingers were so awkward as he tied the ends together. He thought little of the scratch; it was the blow which worried him.
"It's a wonder, miss," he remarked, "that he escaped at all. It sartinly 'ud be a pity to see sich a fine feller knocked out. I haven't seen his like in many a day. He's got real spunk, an' is all man."
"Do you think he will recover?" Madeline asked as she turned toward the trapper. "Isn't there anything that we can do?"
"Wall, I'm hopin' he'll come outer this stupor. But if he doesn't we must try to git 'im back to Big Glen, whar he will have treatment from the doctors. I understan' they have purty skilful ones thar."
"But when can we start? How can we take him all the way over that hard trail?"
"We can't leave jist yet, miss; thar's important work on hand. We must lay that poor old man to rest, an'—"
"Oh! is he dead? Do you mean to tell me that he was shot?"
"Yes, miss; it's only too true. A bullet passed through his body, an' he went down like a log. I'm mighty sorry."