Imperfectly clad as she was, her form and bearing suggesting a princess, her beauty, enhanced by her joy at finding help, radiant and dazzling, their wonder and shyness held them stolid and outwardly unresponsive, and they silently waited for her to speak. She went straight to them, and, looking at them one after another as she spoke, she said,-- “Will you help me, men? I left a man exhausted in the road some miles down the canon. I fear he is dying. Will you go with me and help me bring him up? Is there a doctor anywhere near? Is there a house to which we may take him?” There was a moment of silence,--these men are slow, but all the surer for that. One of them, a bearded, commanding man of middle age, said,-- “Yes, we will go and bring him up. A doctor lives up the canon. Maybe he’s at home. The man can’t walk?” “No; he is lying helpless in the road.” The strong man, whom she afterward heard the others call Samson,--one of those singular coincidences of name and character,--turned and picked out two men. “You two,” he said, as quietly as though he were directing the road-work, “cut two poles and make a litter with them and a blanket. Go and bring the man up. You,” he said to a third, “help them make the litter, and give a hand on the trip.” Two others he directed to prepare the wagon, which stood a short distance up the road. Another he sent up the road to summon the doctor. Then he turned his attention to the young woman. Without consulting her, he made a comfortable nest of greatcoats and blankets, and when he had so deftly and quickly finished it, he said to her,-- “Come and rest here.” “No!” she vehemently protested; “I am going back with the men.” “You are not going back with the men. If you did, there would be two for them to bring up instead of one. One is enough. Make yourself comfortable here; you are safe.” The slight rebuke in this, and the quiet determination with which the man spoke, informed her that she must lay a reasoning hand upon her agonizing fear and impatience. She obeyed him with as good a grace as she could find. Again without consulting her, he brought some hot coffee, poured it into a tin-cup, and held it out to her. “Drink that,” he said. She drank it. He then produced some bread, which he sliced and buttered. “Eat that,” he said. She obeyed. While doing so she watched the men make the litter, and marvelled at the skill with which they worked, and the quickness with which the task was done, seemingly without the slightest effort or hurry. Then in silence the three men swung down the road. The man named Samson, although he had not appeared to be giving any attention to his fair guest, was in front of her the moment she had finished the bread and butter. He carried some things in his arms, and threw them down at her feet.