vals were not to be trusted with an unconscious human
smelling of fresh blood.

There seemed nothing better to do than shout for help, on the chance of
somebody hearing her in this wild and desolate place. Through the ravine
rang the golden voice that might one day enthrall the world, pitched to
fill a wider auditorium than it had ever filled before. From side to
side it rolled and echoed in musical cadences: "Help! Come! Somebody
please hear me! Help!"

Birds awoke with startled twittering, and various creatures of the
underbrush, which had been attracted to the light of the lantern, fled
away in terror. She sent her voice in the direction of the cabin they
had mistaken for their own. Drunk or not, there were men there, and she
needed them.

But after some time, an answer came from the other side of the ravine, a
little way beyond. A bobbing light appeared on the edge, and a faint
halloa reached her.

"What's wrong down there?"

Jacqueline shouted: "Man hurt! Bleeding! Awfully!"

The lantern bobbed rapidly downward. Presently a man came into sight,
stoop-shouldered and spectacled, and roughly dressed. He knelt beside
Channing and examined him.

"Nothing broken. Just loss of blood. That's not a bad bandage. It will
last till we get him up the hill. No need to cry, young lady," he added;
for at the first sound of that pleasant, crisp, gentleman's voice,
Jacqueline had broken into sobs. She knew that her immediate troubles
were over.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The newcomer asked no questions, then or afterwards, but busied himself
with a little satchel he carried. "Drink this, please," he said to
Jacqueline in a moment.

It was aromatic ammonia, and she spluttered over it and stopped crying.
Then he forced some between Channing's lips; and presently the wounded
man's eyes opened, to Jacqueline's almost sick relief.

"There! Now you will do nicely, though you will not feel like climbing
my hill, perhaps," the stranger said to him. He eyed Jacqueline
speculatively. "Are you a muscular young lady? I think so."

"Yes, indeed!" She doubled up her arm boyishly to exhibit the swelling
biceps.

He nodded. "Excellent. Then we must make him a ladies' chair, you and I.
Fortunately he is not a large man."

Channing, however, was heavier than he looked. He was only conscious
enough to keep his arms over their shoulders, otherwise unable to help
them at all. They made slow progress. Frequently they had to put him
down