it."

Ida frowned, and remembered the trail of blood on the white stones
when the packer had started. Kinnaird made a little abrupt movement.

"I'm afraid that I was forgetting all about the man in my relief at
getting you safely down," he said. "We owe him a good deal, and I'll
go out presently and thank him; but there's another matter. Your knee
ought to be attended to."

That commenced a discussion, but Arabella persisted that she would get
over the injury if she didn't walk for a few days.

Then Kinnaird summoned one of the Indians to clear away the meal. The
brown-skinned, dark-haired man appeared in the entrance of the tent
and spoke haltingly in English.

"They wait," he said, pointing to the supper plates. "Want piece
shirt--handkerchief. Packer man's boot full of blood."

Those he addressed looked at one another, and Kinnaird, rising, went
out hastily.

CHAPTER VI

KINNAIRD STRIKES CAMP

It was about the middle of the next afternoon when Ida Stirling,
walking slowly along the river-bank, came upon Weston sitting with his
back to a tree. He wore no boot on one foot which was wrapped in
bandages, and when he would have risen Ida checked him with a sign,
and sat down not far away.

"Is it too hot in the tent?" he asked.

Ida flashed a swift glance at him. He seemed perfectly contented, and
very much at his ease, and it was a little difficult to believe that
this was the sharp-voiced mart who had ordered her to put on his
jacket early on the previous morning. Now he was smiling languidly,
and there was a graceful carelessness that was almost boyish in his
manner, which made it a little easier to understand why his comrades
had called him the Kid. She was rather pleased with it.

"No," she said. "At least that was not what brought me out. The major
has gone fishing; Mrs. Kinnaird has gone to sleep; and Arabella
appears a little cross."

Weston nodded.

"It's excusable," he said. "How is Miss Kinnaird's knee?"

"I don't think it's very bad. How is your foot? It doesn't seem to
have affected your temper."

Weston laughed.

"I'd forgotten all about it. In some respects I feel a little obliged
to it. You see, for once in a while, it's rather nice to have nothing
to do, and know that one's wages won't immediately stop. Besides, to
be waited on is a pleasant change."

Ida's eyebrows straightened a trifle as they sometimes did when she
was not exactly pleased. It is by no means an unusual