"I surely will," replied Columbine, gladly, and she sat down on the edge of the bed. "Ben, you fetch that box and put his dinner on it."
While Wade complied, Columbine, shyly aware of her nearness to the cowboy, sought to keep up conversation. "Couldn't you help yourself with your left hand?" she inquired.
"That's one worse," he answered, taking it from under the blanket, where it had been concealed.
"Oh!" cried Columbine, in dismay.
"Broke two bones in this one," said Wilson, with animation. "Say, Collie, our friend Wade is a doctor, too. Never saw his beat!"
"And a cook, too, for here's your dinner. You must sit up," ordered Columbine.
"Fold that blanket and help me up on it," replied Moore.
How strange and disturbing for Columbine to bend over him, to slip her arms under him and lift him! It recalled a long-forgotten motherliness of her doll-playing days. And her face flushed hot.
"Can't you move?" she asked, suddenly becoming aware of how dead a weight the cowboy appeared.
"Not--very much," he replied. Drops of sweat appeared on his bruised brow. It must have hurt him to move.