When he had gone a short distance he stopped. His leg hurt and he had a dull recollection of a blow. His leg was not cut; perhaps the chopper had hit him with the flat of the ax or he had struck it on the rock. Anyhow, he was lame and could hardly keep his balance on the rough slope. There was no use in going on like that, particularly as he heard a faint rattle of gravel some distance off. It was obvious that the chopper had got away and Jim awkwardly climbed back. Now he was getting cool, he began to see what Carrie had done and when he joined her he felt embarrassed.
"I'm sorry; I expect I was very rough," he remarked.
"Oh," she said, "that doesn't matter! I think I understand. Besides, you are hurt."
"Leg's stiff; that's all. I ought to have remembered. But, you see——"
Carrie smiled. "You mean you didn't think about me at all? You had concentrated on catching the fellow."
"Something like that," Jim admitted. "I ought to have thought, and after a few minutes I did think."
"When you found you couldn't walk?"
"Well," said Jim, awkwardly, "I now see how mean I was." He paused and resumed with sincere emotion: "If you hadn't come, the brute would have cut me down."
Carrie's rather ironical amusement vanished and she colored. "It doesn't matter, Jim. All that's important is, I did come. But you are lame and mustn't stand."
"I can stand as long as you can stand," said Jim, who pulled off his jacket and threw it on the ground. "You'll find this softer than the stones." He sat down opposite her and resumed: "Now, how did you happen——?"