“Oh, you poor, poor man!” she cried in a voice full of sympathy, and placed a folded blanket under his head. Then the Overland girl ran out to a spring just back of the cabin, returning with a basin of cold mountain water. First giving the wounded man a drink, she tore open the faded, worn shirt and bathed his wound, which she knew at once was a serious one.
This served to rouse the patient a little, and he regarded her with searching eyes—eyes that were full of pain.
“Tha—ank you. You’re a good girl. What be you doing here?”
“I belong to a party, but was carried down the river from Silver Creek village when the forest fire reached there. Never mind that—tell me about yourself.”
“The gang got me—Hawk Murray’s gang. Name’s Sam Petersen, and I’m a prospector—was a prospector, but I’m done, finished now.”
“Why did they shoot you?”
“For gold, Miss, gold! But I hung on to my horse and got away. They’ll be here.”
Elfreda begged him not to worry, seeing that the thought of the Murray gang excited him.
“Promise me, for your own sake, that you will not let them find me or know that I have been here. If they find out they’ll do the same by you that they have done by Sam Petersen.”
Miss Briggs caressed the gray head, and moistened his lips with the cold mountain water. Then, as tenderly as possible, she dragged the wounded man to the bunk at one corner of the room, where he might be more comfortable.