Never in her life had Helen Yardely worked so hard as she worked in the next two hours. She made two journeys to the lake with their possessions, and on the way back the second time she arranged several resting places in preparation for the hardest task of all—the carrying of her injured companion down to the shore.
That, as she knew, was bound to be a terribly painful thing for him, but there was no other way, and harsh necessity made her ruthless. She did what she could with an improvised sling, and helped him to stand on his uninjured leg. The pain he endured was shown in his white face, and in the bitten under lip, which trickled red. She was afraid that he was about to faint, but he recovered himself and three-quarters of a minute later, she was carrying him pick-a-back to the lakeside.
Twice she heard a groan torn from him, but she set her teeth, and pointed on to the first resting place, where, as gently as she could, she set him on the trunk of a fallen tree which, supported by its under branches, lay waist high. Then she turned round and looked at Stane. He was in a state verging on collapse. Instantly she felt for his service water-bottle which she had previously filled with brandy and water, and pouring out some of the liquid she held it towards him.
"Drink," she said, "all of it."
He did so, and when they had rested five minutes, they started again and, after halting twice more, reached the shore, where she set him down on a convenient rock, below which she had piled blankets to support his injured leg. Then for the moment quite overdone, she collapsed on the sand, one hand on her jumping heart, the other on her throbbing head. It was a little time before either of them could speak, and it was the man who did so first.
"Miss Yardely, take a little brandy. I implore you!"
Helen looked up, nodded without speaking, and with shaking hands poured out a little of the spirit for herself. After a time her breath came back, and she rose to her feet.
"You are mortal heavy," she said with an attempt at gaiety. "You were like the old man of the sea on my back.... I hope your leg is all right?"
"Painful! But that is to be expected, and it can't be helped." A drift of smoke came down in the wind and made him cough, and he looked round to mark the progress of the fire. "We haven't much of a margin, Miss Yardely."
"No," she answered, "I must get busy. Now tell me what to do!"