This daring, gifted young doctor had come to be like his own son in their work together for the suffering. He turned back his coat and found the deep knife-wound in his shoulder, and set about stanching the flow of blood with the simple knowledge of surgery that the life of the wilderness taught to all. But it was Ruth who thought of Paul's medical case which always hung on his saddle. The horse was gone, but the case was lying not far away, on the ground where it had fallen, and there were bandages and lint in it, as she hoped there would be. But when they had done all that they could, he still lay motionless and barely breathing. She dropped down beside him in fresh alarm, and again took his head on her lap. Father Orin stood up, looking helplessly through the moonlight and murmuring something about getting the doctor back to his cabin. "We will take him to Cedar House," she said. "There is no one to nurse him in his own cabin. Oh!" with a smothered scream. "They are coming back!" She could not suppress that one cry of fright which burst from her lips. But there was only one, she stilled the others and tried at once to control the trembling of her knees under his head. The dove will sit still when a cruel hand comes close to her nest; but no living creature has the courage of the gentlest woman when the man she loves is helpless--through no lack of strength or courage in himself--and in danger. The things which timid women have done then, stand among the bravest that have ever been set down to the credit of humanity. Believing that some hideous, unknown peril was sweeping upon them, this mere slip of a girl now bent quietly over the prone head and spoke close to the deaf ear without thinking whether or not it could hear. "There, dear heart, there! Never mind. All is well. Lie still, or your wound will bleed. We are here, Father Orin and I. We will take care of you. Only lie still." Two horsemen were now in sight and they were spurring straight toward Anvil Rock. While they were yet a long way off, Ruth felt, rather than saw, that one of them was David. She told the priest who it was, and they both knew that only a friend could be coming with the boy. Her whole form relaxed under the relief. If Paul could but open his eyes, if his breath would but come a little more quickly, and a little less faintly! Her tears were falling on his still, white face, now that there was no further need for self-control, or courage. She steadied her voice, and told the story as clearly as she could, when Father Orin asked again how she came to be in such a place, and what it was that had led to the wounding of Paul Colbert.