When he placed her down on a heap of half-dried grass she had thrown together while awaiting his return, a faint tinge of color was returning to her face, and her eyes dimly focused upon him.
"You've worked too much, that's what it means," he said. "You see you're tired."
"I'm—sorry," she faltered, faintly. "I really—didn't mean to be—so weak."
"Never mind," he said. "I'll kill the brute. His skin is certainly a beauty." With the utmost apparent indifference to Elaine's recovery, he went at once to the clearing for the bits of old junk he had dropped.
When he returned, his mind was still on the tiger.
"We've got to live—move about—and not be annoyed," he said. "If I had a single rifle! But I'll get him somehow, soon!"
Elaine still remained upon the hay.
"If he doesn't get us sooner," she replied, a little grimly, but not as one in fear.
"I shall wall up the trail," mused Grenville, aloud, looking about at the quantity of rock so readily afforded. "That much I can do this afternoon."
She sat up a bit more sturdily.