“I came looking for—some one.”
And then, realizing that this statement contradicted the one he had just made, he said by way of explanation:
“I meant that I did not know that womenfolk ever penetrated so far into the wilderness. Miners, I know, lone prospectors, get into all corners of the earth.”
“And womenfolk?” she challenged him. “Are there then any places where men have led that their womenfolk have not followed them?”
He again tried to sit up, but sudden blackness swept upon him and he fell back. The gleam of amusement went as swiftly from her eyes, which were once more deeply womanly, intensely feminine and soft. Her cool hand was upon his forehead, pushing back the tangled hair, smoothing it; and her voice, cooing, tender, came to him like a whisper out of a dream:
“You are hurt, badly hurt! Don’t try to move. Just rest; be very still.”
Once more she sprang up and ran to the lake shore to bring water in his hat. She wet his forehead, readjusted the bandage and let a little trickle of water run upon his wrists. In a moment he opened his eyes to look up at her, forcing a smile to meet her anxious gaze.
“Can you tell me,” she said softly, “where you are hurt? You can’t move?”
“I’ll try again in a minute. It’s my whole side, the right side.” He glanced down toward his hand. “I think the wrist is broken. I got it caught under me as I fell. I can’t move it.”
“It is swollen already,” she told him after a brief inspection. “Poor fellow, how it must hurt!”