“Miss Kinnaird isn’t hurt much,” he said harshly. “Don’t stop us now!”
Then she heard her daughter’s voice bearing out this assurance, and she went back with the plodding men, while her husband stumbled along wearily at her side. In a minute or two Weston, calling to one of the Indians, laid down his end of the poles, and, staggering away, sat down heavily. None of them troubled themselves about him, and Ida, who had risen when she heard their voices, helped to convey Miss Kinnaird into the tent. In the meanwhile one of the Indians growled to his comrade when he found the fire out, and stolidly proceeded to relight it, while Weston lay with his back against a fir and watched him with half-closed eyes. The Siwash, however, proved that he was capable of preparing a meal, and when it was finished, Arabella, who appeared much fresher than the major, proceeded to relate her adventures to Ida and her mother.
“It was rather horrible up on the range, and I was almost afraid they wouldn’t get me down,” she said. “I don’t know how they did it, I’m sure. Parts of the way were simply awful. They had to cut the little trees down for yards at a time to get my blanket litter through, and there were places so steep that they could scarcely crawl down. The Indians, of course, had to be relieved now and then, and my father and the packer took turns with them.”
She looked at the major with a smile.
“When it was especially steep, I preferred an Indian and the packer. Once, you know, you dropped me; but nothing seemed to disconcert that young man. He must have been horribly worn out, for he had been up twice, but he was so steady and reassuringly quiet. I suppose a man of his kind would appreciate twenty dollars. He really deserves it.”
Ida frowned, and remembered the trail of blood on the white stones when the packer had started. Kinnaird made a little abrupt movement.
“I’m afraid that I was forgetting all about the man in my relief at getting you safely down,” he said. “We owe him a good deal, and I’ll go out presently and thank him; but there’s another matter. Your knee ought to be attended to.”
That commenced a discussion, but Arabella persisted that she would get over the injury if she didn’t walk for a few days.
Then Kinnaird summoned one of the Indians to clear away the meal. The brown-skinned, dark-haired man appeared in the entrance of the tent and spoke haltingly in English.
“They wait,” he said, pointing to the supper plates. “Want piece shirt—handkerchief. Packer man’s boot full of blood.”