“Miss Thornton,” he said, holding the cap, from which the water still dripped, “permit me to introduce myself. My name is Bruce Browning, and I belong with Frank Merriwell’s party, which arrived in Glendale only the day before yesterday. We have become members of the Lake Lily Athletic Club since, and it may be that the arrow which struck you was shot by one of my friends, for they are taking part in the archery shoot up on the hill.” It was a very long speech for Bruce Browning, as he himself realized, but it slipped off his tongue very easily, under the circumstances. “So I more than ever feel that it is my duty to assist you,” he continued, “and to see that you reach home without further accident.” “I dunno what dad’ll say ’bout that,” she observed, shyly. “He allus declar’s ez he ain’t got no use fur citified people, with thar store clo’es, an’ sich. So I reckon it’d be an uncommon good piece o’ hoss sense ef you’d track back up the hill.” “No, I can’t leave you that way,” declared Browning, who, looking into her white face, saw that she was so weak she was again on the point of falling. “You are in no condition to go on alone, Miss Thornton. I can’t permit it.” Then he squeezed the water out of his cap, got himself into his coat, and prepared to assist her down the hill and to her home. Bob Thornton’s cabin, the home of Nell Thornton, did not differ materially in its general aspect from other cabins Bruce Browning had seen in the mountains, except that it was larger. A bar of light from the descending sun fell through a wooded notch in the hills and lit up the small panes of its one window with a ruddy fire. A morning-glory, with closed petals, clambered up the rough stick-and-mud chimney, as if trying to hide its unsightliness, and a gourd vine swung its green, pear-shaped bulbs over the door. Nell Thornton had seemed to gain strength as the journey continued, and had not often needed Bruce’s helping hand, even where the way was rough. Now she stopped in the doorway, as if she did not desire him to go further. “I’m ’bleeged to ye!” she said, apparently at a loss for words with which to express her thanks. “My arm ain’t hurtin’ so much ez it did, an’ dad’s a master hand ter fix up a wound like that. I don’t doubt it’ll be all right by ter-morrer. I’m sorry you los’ so much time a-troublin’ with me.” “Don’t mention it,” begged Bruce. “I’m glad to have been of assistance.” Then he lifted his cap, and moved grumblingly away. “Good-by!” she called, timidly. Bruce turned and faced her. “Good-by!” he said, again lifting his cap. He saw her vanish into the cabin, and once more sought the blind path that led from the cabin up the mountain. “It will be darker than a stack of black cats before I get back to the cottages,” he growled. “What in thunder makes anybody want to live in such an out-of-the-way place as this?”