Then, unaccountably, inconsistently, all the terror she had not suffered before laid hold on her. "Jimsy! You're hurt! You're wounded!"
"Just a cut on the leg, Skipper! That's why I was so slow. It's nothing, I tell you,—get in the house!"
But Honor, running beside them, trying to carry a part of him, kept pace beside them until Yaqui Juan had carried Jimsy into the house and up the stairs and laid him on his own bed.
"There are five canteens," said Jimsy. "Here—one's for you, Skipper. Take the rest to Mrs. King, Juan. Skipper, drink it. Just a little at first, you know—careful! Don't you hear what I'm saying to you? Drink—the water—out of this canteen!"
Mechanically, her eyes always on his face, Honor loosened the cap and opened the canteen and drank.
"There,—that's enough!" said Jimsy, sharply. "Now, wait five minutes before you take any more." He took the canteen away from her. "Sit down!" He was not meeting her eyes.
"Did you have any, Jimsy?"
"Gallons. I didn't have any trouble to speak of, really. Only one fellow actually on guard. We had a little rough-house. He struck me in the leg, and it bled a lot. That's what kept me. And it took—some time—with him."
"Jimsy, is it bad? Is it still bleeding? Let me see!"
He pushed her away, almost roughly. "It's all right. Juan tied it up. It'll do. I guess you can have a little more water, now,—but take it slowly.... There! Now you'd better go and see about the rest. Don't let them take too much at first."