great sore, from which he deducted that he was badly bruised; whilst
his leg pained him intolerably. Lying as he was on the flat of his
back, he couldn't see the leg, and desiring to do so he made a great
effort and sat up. As he did so, he groaned heavily, and incontinently
fainted.

He was still unconscious when the girl returned, and after one quick
look of alarm she nodded to herself. "A faint," she whispered. "Perhaps
it is just as well."

With a knife she ripped the breeches leg right up the seam, then with
the aid of moss and a blanket, together with the rough splints she had
cut, she made a shift to set the broken leg. Twice during the operation
Stane opened his eyes, groaned heavily, and passed into unconsciousness
again.

Helen did not allow these manifestations of suffering to deflect her
from her task. She knew that her unskilled surgery was bound to pain
him severely, and she welcomed the lapses into unconsciousness, since
they made her task easier. At last she gave a sob of relief and stood
up to survey her handiwork. The splicing and the binding looked
terribly rough, but she was confident that the fractured ends of bone
were in position, and in any case she had done her best.

After that she busied herself with building a fire, and after heating
water, washed the wound on Stane's forehead, and carefully examined him
for other injuries. There were bruises in plenty, but so far as she
could discover no broken bones, and when she had satisfied herself on
that point, she turned to other tasks.

Cutting a quantity of young spruce-boughs she fashioned them into a bed
close beside where he lay, and filled all the interstices with springy
moss, laying over all a blanket. That done, she turned once more to
Stane, to find him with eyes wide open, watching her.

"I have set your leg," she said, in a matter-of-fact voice. "I've done
the best I could, though I am afraid it is rather a rough piece of
work."

He raised his head slightly, and glanced down at the bandaged limb,
then he smiled a trifle wanly.

"It has a most workmanlike look," he said in a faint voice.

"Now I want to get you on this bed. I ought to have done so before I
set your leg. I had forgotten that there was no one to help me lift you
on to it. But perhaps we shall be able to manage, though I am afraid it
will be a very painful ordeal for you. Still it must be done--we can't
have you lie upon the ground."

The ordeal was certainly a