Bayard looked her over through a silent moment; then moved one foot quickly and, eyes still holding her gaze, his left hand groped for a towel, found it, shook it out and spread it over the face of the drunken, wounded man he had called her to help him tend. "He ain't a beauty, Miss," he explained, relieved that the countenance was concealed from her. "I hate to look at him myself an' I'd hate to have a girl ... like you have to look at him ... I'm sure he would, too,"--as though he did not actually mean the last. The woman moved to his side then, eyes held on the wound by evident effort. It was as if she were impelled to turn her gaze to that covered face and fought against the desire with all the will she could muster. "You see, Miss, this artery's been cut an' I've got my thumb shut down on it here," he indicated. "This gent got shot up a trifle to-night an' we--you an' me--have got to fix him up. I can't do it alone because he's bleedin' an' he's lost more than's healthy for him now. "It sure is fine of you to come, Miss." He looked at her curiously and steadily yet without giving offense. It was as though he had characterized this woman for himself, was thinking more about the effect on her of the work they were to do than of that work itself. He was interested in this newcomer; he wanted to know about her. That was obvious. He watched her as he talked and his manner made her know that he was very gentle, very considerate of her peace of mind, in spite of the quality about him which she could not understand, which was his desire to know how she would act in this unfamiliar, trying situation. "Now, you take that towel and roll it up," he was saying. "Yes, th' long way.... Then, bring that stick they use to prop up th' window--" "It's a tourniquet you want," she broke in. He looked up at her again. "Tourniquet.... Tourniquet," he repeated, to fix the new word in his mind. "Yes, that's what I want: to shut off the blood." She folded the towel and brought the stick. From her audible breathing Bayard knew that she was excited, but, otherwise, she had ceased to give indication of the fact. "Loop it around and tie a knot," he said. "Is that right?" she asked, in a voice that was too calm, too well controlled for the circumstances. "Yes, it's all right, Miss. How about you?"--a twinkle in his eye. "If this ... if you don't think you can stand it to fuss with him--" he began, but she cut him off with a look that contained something of a quality of reassurance, but which was more obviously a rebuff. "I said I could help you. Why do you keep doubting me?" "I don't; I'm tryin' to be careful of your feelings,"--averting his eyes that she might not see the quick fire of appreciation in them. "Will you tighten it with that stick, now, Miss?"