Stonor, raging in his helplessness, was nevertheless obliged to stop. He found Mary conscious, biting her lips until they bled to keep from groaning. Her face was ashy. Yet she insisted on sitting up to prove to him that she was not badly hurt.
“Go on! Go on!” she was muttering as he reached her. “I all right. Don’ stop! Go after him!”
“Where are you hurt?” Stonor demanded.
“Just my leg. No bone broke. It is not’ing. Go after him!”
“I can’t leave you like this!”
“Give me your little medicine-bag. I dress it all right myself. Go quick!”
“Be quiet! Let me think!” cried the distracted trooper. “I can’t leave you here helpless. I can’t tell when I’ll be back. You must have food, a blanket, gun and ammunition.”
As he spoke, he set about getting out what she needed; first of all the little medicine chest that he never travelled without. He laid aside the breed woman’s gun and shells for her, and one of his two blankets. The delay was maddening. With every second he pictured Imbrie drawing further and further away, Clare without a protector now. Though the dug-out was heavier than the bark-canoe, he would be handicapped by the devilish breed woman, who would be sure to hinder him by every means within her power. Yet he still closed his ears to Mary’s urgings to be off. He built up Imbrie’s fire and put on water to heat for her. He carried her near the fire, where she could help herself.
As he worked a new plan came to him, a way out of part of his difficulties. “Mary,” he said suddenly, “I’m going to leave the canoe with you, too, and this woman to take care of for me. I’ll take to the bench. I can cut him off above.”
“No! No!” she groaned. “Leave the woman and take the canoe. You can come back when you get her.”