Belle started toward the kitchen without a word. She was not unused to emergencies.
Mrs. Ball was doing all in her power to make the man comfortable. As the two boys stood there, contemplating the figure on the cot, the front door opened and the doctor entered, followed by Mr. Ball.
One glance Peter Ball took at the wounded man.
“Stranger,” he said briefly. “Miner, from his clothes. All right, doc, he’s yours. We’re waitin’.”
The doctor, a young chap but newly arrived in that section, seemed a trifle nervous. He set his bag on the floor and opened it. The moment he started to work, however, his nervousness disappeared. His entire thought was concentrated on the case before him.
“Boiling water,” he said sharply. “Where is it? Should have been ready!”
“It is,” a girl’s voice replied. “Here.”
Belle handed him a kettle and placed a basin at his side. Strangely enough, although the young doctor had scarcely looked at the others in the room, he glanced swiftly up at Belle and smiled.
“Thanks,” he said. “I didn’t mean to speak shortly. But I’ve got to work fast.”
The bandage about the man’s neck was removed and a thick stream of blood welled out. Mrs. Ball grew white, and leaned against her husband.