Harry longed to drop down beside Rob and sleep; never had she been so weary. But she realized that Mrs. Robinson must be hungry, for it was almost eight o'clock. Harry had built the fire and was moving stiffly about, trying to think what she could prepare from her meager supply of groceries, when Mrs. Robinson returned. "Say now," the woman exclaimed, "you let me get supper! You're wore to a feather edge. I'll knock up a pan of hot bread and fry a little fat meat, and that'll do us, bein' as there's no men to cook for." After supper, Harry and Mrs. Robinson washed the dishes. The doctor had not yet come, and the girl was worried. "Well," said Mrs. Robinson, "it's a twenty-mile drive out here, and it was close on to six when I called him. There, now! Hear that? I guess that's him this minute." Both women hurried outside. The silhouette of a horseman showed against the sky, and a voice called, "This Holliday's?" "That's right," replied Mrs. Robinson. "We're waitin' for you, Doc." The next moment the doctor, a sallow-faced Kentuckian, swung from his saddle and clumped into the tent; he had turned up a wrong trail, he said, in apology for being late. Harry held the lamp for him while he cleansed the wound and took a few stitches in it. He gave Harry directions for caring for it, and left lint and antiseptics. There was, he said, nothing more that he could do; fortunately all danger of concussion from the blow at the base of the skull had passed, and the other injuries were only flesh wounds. All Rob needed was to keep quiet for a few days. The sheriff, he explained, had not been able to come, because he had gone to Scalp Creek to investigate a shooting affair. While the doctor was getting ready to leave, Mrs. Robinson wrapped the baby in her shawl. "If it's all the same to you, Doc," she said, "seein' as it's on your road, I'd be mighty obliged if you'd drive me over. The ponies are that mean to-night! You can hitch yours on behind the wagon." Harry went down to the corral with them and stood in the moonlight holding the sleeping baby while Mrs. Robinson caught and harnessed the horses. Harry felt a generous impulse of admiration for the self-reliant, fearless ranchwoman, and when she said good night asked her cordially to come again. "If she were only a little more civilized and congenial!" thought Harry regretfully, looking after them until they had vanished amid the moonlit ghosts of sagebrush, and the rattle of wheels had died away. "I guess it would be better, though, if I were more like her," she suddenly confessed to herself. "Everything she does counts, while I just rush round and waste my breath. Of course she's learned how, while I have been learning civilized things; but if I'm to stay out here I'd better learn how to live here."