"Was the doctor got?" asked Holland with sudden interest.
"Yes, I rode on down to Thompson's, and Mr. Thompson sent a man to town. He was provoked with you for not letting him in on the raid."
"He'll get over it. You see, I didn't want to call out the married men. I surmised there'd be gun-play an' there wasn't any use takin' chances with men that was needed, when there's plenty of us around the hills that it don't make any difference to anyone if we come back or not. I didn't figure on lettin' Pierce in."
When they had finished washing the dishes the girl glanced toward the buckskin that was snipping grass in the clearing: "It's time we were going. The doctor may start for town this morning and we'll meet him on the trail."
"This ain't a doctor's job," protested the man. "My arm feels fine."
"It's so stiff you can hardly use it. It must feel fine. But it doesn't make a particle of difference how fine it feels. It needs attention. And, surely you won't refuse to do this for me, after I bandaged it all up? Because, if anything should go wrong it would be my fault."
Without a word the man picked up his bridle and walking to the buckskin, slipped it over his head and led him in. He saddled the horse with one hand, and as he turned toward the girl she held out the glove.
"Isn't this yours? I found it last evening—out in the hills."
Holland thrust his hand into it: "Yes, it's mine. I'm sure obliged to you. I lost it a couple of days ago. I hate to break in new gloves. These have got a feel to 'em."
"Do you know where I found it?"