"One'd think you was in a hurry," said the tall man easily. "Ain't I got as much right to the road as yous?" Then his face changed as he looked at Aileen. "Beg pardon," he said, and they saw that he was their acquaintance of the steamer. "I didn't know it was you, Mr. Macleod. Is the kid hurt?"
"Dislocated wrist," was Tom's brief answer. "Do you happen to know if the doctor is still at the hotel?"
"I know he's not," was the unexpected answer; and Aileen felt Garth shiver. "Went away by this morning's boat."
"And there is no other doctor?" Tom's voice was sharp with anxiety.
"Not nearer than Bairnsdale." The man swung himself to the ground, leaving the reins trailing over the brown cob's head. "Can I have a look, son?"
Aileen slipped away the sling, and Garth held out his wrist mutely.
"H'm," said the man. "Rotten luck, eh, son? Fell down an' trod on it, did you? Think you can trust me to put it right?"
"Oh! can you?" The words came from Aileen in a gasp.
"I'd like a bob for every one I've done," said the new-comer. "Most chaps in the Bush know a bit o' surgery." He nodded to Tom. "Hold him steady."
He took the little wrist in weatherbeateh hands that were wonderfully gentle. "It won't take not half a second, son—just set your teeth."