"Did he know you?"
"Yes; but he's terribly weak." They were all beside Mr. Linton now, and Murty struck a match, and carefully shading it, scanned the fallen man's face by its glimmer. Norah saw his own change as he looked. Then the match went out, and for a moment it was darker than ever.
"They're bringing things," Jim said. He took off his coat and spread it over his father, and Murty did the same. "And the doctor's coming—it's wonderful luck—he came out from Cunjee with Wally." Jim put his hand on Norah's. "Were you all right, old kiddie?"
"Quite right," said she. Then they waited silently until a rattle of wheels came as the express wagon clattered up. Murty went out to the track to bring the doctor in.
Dr. Anderson cast a glance at Norah by the light of the lanterns they had brought, and spoke to Jim.
"Take her away," he said. "I don't want you, either. Murty and Boone will help me." So the two who were only children wandered off into the scrub together, sitting on a log, silently, in sick anxiety, while the doctor was busy. A groan came to them once, and Norah shuddered and put her face into her hands, while Jim, who had himself shivered at the sound, put his arm round her, and tried to whisper something, only his voice would not come. Then—ages later, it seemed—the doctor's voice:
"Are you two there?"
They hurried to him.
"We'll get him home," the doctor said. "A risk, moving him; but it's worse to leave him lying under that log. The men are getting some of the dogwood down, so that we can carry him out better. He's badly knocked about, but his head's all right. The leg is the worst; it's fractured in two places. You'll have a patient for a good while, Norah."
"Then—then he won't die?"