Her high boots were tightly laced of course, but he could see that her left foot had been badly mauled or sprained, already the slender ankle was swelling visibly. He examined it swiftly a moment. It might be a sprain, it might be the result of some violent thrust against the rocks, some whirling tree trunks might have caught and crushed her foot, but there was no good in speculating as to causes; the present patent fact was that she could not walk, all the rest was at that moment unimportant. This unfortunate accident made him the more anxious to get her to a place of shelter without delay. It would be necessary to take off her boot and give the wounded member proper treatment. For the present the tight shoe acted as a bandage, which was well. When the man had withdrawn himself from the world, he had inwardly resolved that no human being should ever invade his domain or share his solitude, and during his long sojourn in the wilderness his determination had not weakened. Now his consuming desire was to get this woman, whom fortune--good or ill!--had thrown upon his hands, to his house without delay. There was nothing he could do for her out there in the rain. Every drop of whiskey was gone; they were just two half-drowned, sodden bits of humanity cast up on that rocky shore, and one was a helpless woman. "Do you know where your camp is?" he asked at last. He did not wish to take her to her own camp, he had a strange instinct of possession in her. In some way he felt he had obtained a right to deal with her as he would; he had saved her life twice, once by chance, the other as the result of deliberate and heroic endeavor, and yet his honor and his manhood obliged him to offer to take her to her own people if he could. Hence the question, the answer to which he waited so eagerly. "It's down the cañon. I am one of Mr. Robert Maitland's party." The man nodded. He didn't know Robert Maitland from Adam, and he cared nothing about him. "How far down?" he asked. "I don't know; how far is it from here to where you--where--where we--" "About a mile," he replied quickly, fully understanding her reason for faltering. "Then I think I must have come at least five miles from the camp this morning." "It will be four miles away then," said the man. The girl nodded. "I couldn't carry you that far," he murmured half to himself. "I question if there is any camp left there anyway. Where was it, down by the water's edge?" "Yes." "Every vestige will have been swept away by that, look at it," he pointed over to the lake. "What must we do?" she asked instantly, depending upon his greater strength, his larger experience, his masculine force. "I shall have to take you to my camp." "Is it far?" "About a mile or a mile and a half from here." "I can't walk that far." "No, I suppose not. You wouldn't be willing to stay here while I went down and hunted for your camp?" The girl clutched at him.