d of the board, that had the good
nails, and pulled the box up beside the bunk.

In a few minutes he made another effort and pried part of the cover off
the cracker-box with the knife. Then he pulled out half a dozen
crackers and ate them, drank half a dipper of water, and felt better.

In an hour or so he believed he could stand it to fix up his leg a
little. There was one splint that was poorly wrapped, or something.
It felt as though it were digging slivers into his leg, and he couldn't
stand it any longer.

He pulled himself up until he was sitting with his back against the
wall at the head of his bunk and smoked a cigarette before he went any
farther. Then he unwrapped the bandage carefully, removed the splint
that hurt the worst, and gently massaged the crease in the bruised,
swollen flesh where the narrow board had pressed so cruelly.

The crease itched horribly, and it was too sore to scratch. Ward
cussed it and then got the carbolized vaseline and rubbed that on,
wincing at the pain of his lightest touch. He did not hurry; he had
all the time there was, and it was a relief to get the bandage off his
leg for awhile. You may be sure he was very careful not to move those
broken bones a hair's breadth!

He rubbed on the vaseline, fearing the liniment would blister and
increase his discomfort, and replaced splint and bandage. He was
terribly tired afterwards and lay in a half stupor for a long while.
He realized keenly that he had a tough pull ahead of him, unless
someone chanced to ride that way and so discovered his plight; which
was so unlikely that he did not build any hopes upon it.

He had held himself aloof from the men of the country. He knew the
Seabeck riders by sight; he had talked a little with Floyd Carson two
or three times, and had met Seabeck himself. He knew Charlie Fox in a
purely casual way, as has been related; and Peter Howling Dog the same.

None of these men were likely to ride out of their way to see him. And
now that his mind worked rationally, he had no fear of Buck Olney's
vengeful return. Buck Olney, he guessed shrewdly, was extremely busy
just now, putting as many miles as possible between himself and that
part of Idaho. Unless Billy Louise should come or send for him, he
would in all probability lie alone there until he was able to walk.
Ward did not try to comfort himself with any delusions of hope.

As the days passed, he settled himself grimly to the business of