held the mouth to his
comrade's lips and forgot the pain he suffered in his strained and
stiffening joints, he watched with a feeling of pleasure the avidity
with which the boy drank; and as he saw the strange bird flit by once
more he recalled having heard of such a bird living in the west country.

"Yes," he said to himself, "I remember now--the dipper. Busy after
water-beetles and perhaps after tiny fish.--You are better, Punch, or
you wouldn't drink like that;" and he carefully lowered the boy's head
as he ceased drinking. "Yes, and though I can't hear you, you have come
to your senses again, or you would not look at me like that.--Ah, I
forgot all about them!" For a sound other than that produced by the
falling waters came faintly to his ear. It was from somewhere far
above, and echoed twice. "Yes, I had forgotten all about them."

He began looking anxiously about him, taking in the while that he was
close to the river where it ran in a deep, precipitous gully; and as he
looked up now to right and then to left, eagerly and searchingly, for
the danger that he knew could not be far away, his eyes ranged through
densely wooded slopes, lit up here and there by the morning sunshine,
and always sweeping the sides of the valley in search of the vedettes,
but without avail, not even the rugged mule-path that ran along the side
being visible.

"They are not likely to see us here," Pen said to himself, "and they
can't have seen me coming down. Oh, what a job it was! I feel as if I
must have been walking in my sleep half the time, and I am so stiff I
can hardly move. But I did it, and we must be safe if we can keep out
of sight; and that ought to be easy, for they are not likely to come
down here. Now, what's to be done?"

That was a hard question to answer; but growing once more full of energy
now that he was satisfied that there was no immediate danger, Pen
stepped back lamely, as if every muscle were strained, to his
companion's side, to be greeted with a smile and a movement of the boy's
lips.

"Now, let's see to your wound," he said, with his lips to the boy's ear;
and he passed one hand under Punch's wounded shoulder to try and turn
him over. This time, as Punch's lips parted and his face grew convulsed
with pain, Pen's ears mastered the roar, and he heard the sufferer's
cry.

"Hurt you too much?" he said, as he once more put his lips to the boy's
ear.

The answer was a nod.

"Well," thought Pen, "h