he might lie more easy, but his dead weight was too much, and desisting, she sat close and raised his head to let it rest against her. Thus she saw the blood that was running from in front of the shoulder also; but she said no more about fainting. She tore strips from her dress and soaked them, keeping them cold and wet upon both openings of his wound, and she drew her pocket-knife out and cut his shirt away from the place. As she continually rinsed and cleaned it, she watched his eyelashes, long and soft and thick, but they did not stir. Again she tried the flask, but failed from being still too gentle, and her searching eyes fell upon ashes near the pool. Still undispersed by the weather lay the small charred ends of a fire he and she had made once here together, to boil coffee and fry trout. She built another fire now, and when the flames were going well, filled her flask-cup from the spring and set it to heat. Meanwhile, she returned to nurse his head and wound. Her cold water had stopped the bleeding. Then she poured her brandy in the steaming cup, and, made rough by her desperate helplessness, forced some between his lips and teeth.

Instantly, almost, she felt the tremble of life creeping back, and as his deep eyes opened upon her she sat still and mute. But the gaze seemed luminous with an unnoting calm, and she wondered if perhaps he could not recognize her; she watched this internal clearness of his vision, scarcely daring to breathe, until presently he began to speak, with the same profound and clear impersonality sounding in his slowly uttered words.

“I thought they had found me. I expected they were going to kill me.” He stopped, and she gave him more of the hot drink, which he took, still lying and looking at her as if the present did not reach his senses. “I knew hands were touching me. I reckon I was not dead. I knew about them soon as they began, only I could not interfere.” He waited again. “It is mighty strange where I have been. No. Mighty natural.” Then he went back into his revery, and lay with his eyes still full open upon her where she sat motionless.

She began to feel a greater awe in this living presence than when it had been his body with an ice-cold hand; and she quietly spoke his name, venturing scarcely more than a whisper.

At this, some nearer thing wakened in his look. “But it was you all along,” he resumed. “It is you now. You must not stay--” Weakness overcame him, and his eyes closed. She sat ministering to him, and when he roused again, he began anxiously at once: “You must not stay. They would get you, too.” She glanced at him with a sort of fierceness, then reached for his pistol, in which was nothing but blackened empty cartridges. She threw these out and drew six from his belt, loaded the weapon, and snapped shut its hinge.

“Please take it,” he said, more anxious and more himself. “I ain’t worth tryin’ to keep. Look at me!” “Are you giving up?” she inquired, trying to put scorn in her tone. Then she seated herself.

“Where is the sense in both of us--”

“You had better save your strength,” she interrupted.

He tried to sit up.

“Lie down!” she ordered.

He sank obediently, and began to smile.

When she saw that, she smiled too, and unexpectedly took his hand. “Listen, friend,” said she. “Nobody shall get you, and nobody shall get me. Now take some more brandy.” “It must be noon,” said the cow- puncher, when she had drawn her hand away from him. “I remember it was dark when--when--when I can remember. I reckon they were scared to follow me in so close to settlers. Else they would have been here.” “You must rest,” she observed.