she could no longer restrain, "leave here, or with this blood
on my hand I'll call all hell to curse you."

Frale turned with bowed head and left her there.

CHAPTER XVIII

IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG AWAKES

Thryng lay in Hoke Belew's cabin,--not in the one great living-room
where were the fireplace and the large bed and the tiny cradle, but in
the smaller addition at the side, entered only from the porch which
extended along the front of both parts.

He still lay on the litter upon which he had been placed to carry him
down the mountain,--an improvised thing made by stretching quilts across
two poles of slender green pines. The litter was placed on low trestles
to raise it from the floor, and close to the open door to give him air.
David had not regained consciousness since his hurt, but lay like one
dead, with closed eyes and blanched lips; yet they knew him to be
living.

Cassandra sat beside him alone. All night long she had been there
unsleeping, hollow-eyed, and worn with tearless grief. She had done all
she knew how to do. Before going for help she had removed his clothing
and bound about his body strips torn from her dress to stop the bleeding
of his shoulders where the silver bullet had torn across them. How the
ball had missed giving a mortal wound was like a miracle.

Hoke Belew had tried to arouse him, but had failed. At intervals, during
the night, Cassandra had managed to drop a little whiskey between his
lips with a spoon, and she had bathed him with the stimulant over heart
and lungs, and chafed his hands, and had tried to warm his feet by
rubbing them and wrapping them up between jugs of hot water. She had
bathed his bruised head and cut away the softly curling hair from the
spot where his head had struck the rock. What more she could do she knew
not, and now she sat at his side still chafing his hands and waiting for
Hoke Belew's return.

Hoke had gone to the station to telegraph for Bishop Towers.
Fortunately, as the hotel was so soon to be opened and the busy summer
life to begin, the operator was already there.

Azalea, in the great room, was preparing dinner, stopping now and then
to touch her baby's cradle, or to stoop a moment over the treasure
therein. Aunt Sally sat in the doorway smoking her cob pipe and telling
grewsome tales of how she had "seen people hurted that-a-way and nevah
come out en hit." Sally had ridden over to give help and sympathy, but
Cassandra had said she woul