“No; he is lying helpless in the road.” The strong man, whom she afterward heard the others call Samson,—one of those singular coincidences of name and character,—turned and picked out two men.
“You two,” he said, as quietly as though he were directing the road-work, “cut two poles and make a litter with them and a blanket. Go and bring the man up. You,” he said to a third, “help them make the litter, and give a hand on the trip.” Two others he directed to prepare the wagon, which stood a short distance up the road. Another he sent up the road to summon the doctor. Then he turned his attention to the young woman. Without consulting her, he made a comfortable nest of greatcoats and blankets, and when he had so deftly and quickly finished it, he said to her,—
“Come and rest here.”
“No!” she vehemently protested; “I am going back with the men.”
“You are not going back with the men. If you did, there would be two for them to bring up instead of one. One is enough. Make yourself comfortable here; you are safe.”
The slight rebuke in this, and the quiet determination with which the man spoke, informed her that she must lay a reasoning hand upon her agonizing fear and impatience. She obeyed him with as good a grace as she could find.
Again without consulting her, he brought some hot coffee, poured it into a tin-cup, and held it out to her.
“Drink that,” he said.
She drank it. He then produced some bread, which he sliced and buttered.
“Eat that,” he said.