Next thing I heard was the rapids, like a church organ finishing a hymn, and Mrs. Trevor's call.
"You've killed him?"
"No, ma'am, but he's had an accident. I'll take him to the cabin for first aid."
Trevor was sitting up by the time I reached him. He looked sort of sick.
"Get up," said I, remembering to be polite in the presence of a lady. "Get up, you cherub."
Instead of rising, he reached out a flask from his pocket, and uncorked to take a little nourishment. I flicked the bottle into the river, and assisted him to rise with my foot. "My poor erring brother," said I, "please step this way, or I'll kick your tail through your hat."
He said he wasn't feeling very well, so when I got him into the cabin, I let him lie on Brown's bed, lashing him down good and hard. I gave him a stick to bite instead of my fingers, which is private. "Now," said I, "your name is Polecat. You're due to rest right there, Mr. Polecat, until I get the provincial constable." I gathered from his expression that he'd sort of taken a dislike to me.
Swift and the mare were grazing on pine chips beside the cabin, and Mrs. Trevor looked wonderfully peaceful.
"Your husband," said I, "is resting."
She gave me a wry laugh, and seeing she was in pain, I poured water over her foot.