“I don’t want any other doctor,” she murmured. “I’d rather have you.”
“But I’m not a doctor.”
“No,” she acquiesced. “Who are you? Did you tell me? You are one of the passengers, aren’t you?”
“I’m the station-agent at Manzanita.”
For a moment she looked at him wonderingly. “Are you? I don’t seem to understand. My head is very queer.”
“Don’t try to. Here’s some tea and crackers.”
“I’m starved,” she said.
With subtle stirrings of delight, he watched her eat the bit that he had prepared for her while heating the water. But he was wise enough to know that she must not have much while the extent of her injury was still undetermined.
“Are you wet?” he inquired.
She nodded. “I haven’t been dry since the flood.”