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"We can't carry him," she decided. "It's too far. We'll have to

lift him to the back of the horse, and let him lie there. Steady,

Dick. That's right. You must hold him on, while I lead the

horse."

Heavy as he was, they somehow hoisted him, and started. He had

fainted again, and hung limply, with his face buried in the mane

of the pony. It seemed an age before the cabin loomed,

shadow-like, out of the darkness. They found the door unlocked,

as usual, and carried him in to the bed.

"Give me your knife, Dick," Arlie ordered quietly. "And I want

water. If that's a towel over there, bring it."

"Just a moment. I'll strike a light, and we'll see where we're

at."

"No. We'll have to work in the dark. A light might bring them

down on us." She had been cutting the band of the shirt, and now

ripped it so as to expose the wounded shoulder.