"
She hurried toward the farther end of the cave, came to a tumble of
blankets against the wall, dragged out two or three, spreading them
quickly. And then, while Norton was stooping to lay Brocky's limp form
down, she busied herself with her case.
"He has fainted," she said quickly. "I'd like to examine the wound
before he is conscious; it's going to hurt him. Pour me some water
into any sort of basin or cup or anything else you've got here. Then
stand by to help me if I need you. . . . Hold the lantern for me."
Swiftly, but Norton marked with what skilful fingers, she removed the
bandage and made her examination. Norton, squatting upon his heels at
her side, holding the lantern, after one frowning look at the wound,
kept his eyes fixed upon her face. Brocky Lane was near his death and
the sheriff knew it after that one look; his life lay, perhaps, in the
hands of this girl. Norton had brought her when he might have brought
Patten. Had he chosen wrongly?
He had noted her hands before; now they seemed to him the most
wonderful hands ever possessed by either man or woman, strong, sure,
quick, sensitive, utterly capable. He thought of Caleb Patten's hands,
thick, a little inclined to be flabby.
"Open that bottle," she directed coolly. "One tablet into the water.
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