"It's Grace," came the answer. "Help me in."
"Girls!" called Miss Briggs sharply, springing forward. She paused at the first glimpse of Grace Harlowe's face, which was pale; then hurried to her.
There were flecks of blood on Grace's cheek, and by that token Elfreda Briggs knew that she had been hit.
"Got a smack, I see."
"Just a mere scratch," replied Grace. "It made me feel weak and dizzy, but I shall be myself in a few moments."
Elfreda led her companion into the camp, then examined Grace's wound, which, as the Overland girl had said, was a mere scratch over the left temple. Miss Briggs washed the wound where a bullet had barely grazed the skin, and applied an antiseptic.
"Lie down a few minutes, Loyalheart," she urged.
Grace shook her head.
"I shall get my bearings sooner if I keep on my feet. I am ashamed of myself to give way to a little thing like a bullet scratch."
"That's because you're out of practice. You haven't been shot since last summer," said Emma Dean soothingly. "You won't mind it at all after you have been shot again a few times."