I've got it now. But you mustn't eat. You can have all the
water you want, but no food just yet."
"Won't I--starve?"
"No, people don't starve easily. I've discovered that. You must
lie perfectly still and rest and sleep--for days."
"My hands--are dirty; my face feels--so hot and sticky; my boots
hurt." It was her longest speech as yet, and it trailed off in a
whisper.
"Well, I'm a fine nurse!"
It annoyed him that he had never thought of these things. But
then, awaiting her death and thinking of her comfort were vastly
different matters. He unwrapped the blanket which covered her.
What a slender girl she was! No wonder he had been able to carry
her miles and pack her up that slippery ladder of stone. Her
boots were of soft, fine leather, reaching clear to her knees. He
recognized the make as one of a boot- maker in Sterling. Her
spurs, that he had stupidly neglected to remove, consisted of
silver frames and gold chains, and the rowels, large as silver
dollars, were fancifully engraved. The boots slipped off rather
hard. She wore heavy woollen rider's stockings, half length, and
these were pulled up over the ends of her short trousers. Venters
took off the stockings to note her little feet were red and
swollen. He bathed them. Then he removed his scarf and bathed her
face and hands.
"I must see your wounds now," he said, gently.
She made no reply, but watched him steadily as he opened her
blouse and untied the bandage.
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