He went out and came back with a kettle of boiling water, with which he laved again and again, the poor, torn, battered little member. Never in her life had anything been so grateful as these repeated applications of hot water. After awhile he applied a healing lotion of some kind, then he took his long roll of bandage and wound it dexterously around her foot, not drawing it too close to prevent circulation, but just tight enough for support, then as he finished she drew it back beneath the cover. "Now," said he, "there is nothing more I can do for you to-night, is there?" "Nothing." "I want you to go to sleep now, you will be perfectly safe here. I am going down the cañon to search--" "No," said the girl apprehensively. "I dare not be left alone here; besides I know how dangerous it would be for you to try to descend the cañon in this rain. You have risked enough for me, you must wait until the morning. I shall feel better then." "But think of the anxiety of your friends." "I can't help it," was the nervous reply. "I am afraid to be left alone here at night." Her voice trembled, he was fearful she would have a nervous breakdown. "Very well," he said soothingly, "I will not leave you till the morning." "Where will you stay?" "I'll make a shakedown for myself in the store room," he answered. "I shall be right within call at any time." It had grown dark outside by this time and the two in the log hut could barely see each other. "I think I shall light the fire," continued the man; "it will be sort of company for you and it gets cold up here of nights at this season. I shouldn't wonder if this rain turned into snow. Besides, it will dry your clothes for you." Then he went over to the fireplace, struck a match, touched it to the kindling under the huge logs already prepared, and in a moment a cheerful blaze was roaring up through the chimney. Then he picked up from the floor where she had cast them in a heap, her bedraggled garments. He straightened them out as best he could, hung them over the backs of chairs and the table which he drew as near to the fire as was safe. Having completed this unwonted task he turned to the woman who had watched him curiously and nervously the while. "Is there anything more that I can do for you?" "Nothing; you have been as kind and as gentle as you were strong and brave." He threw his hand out with a deprecating gesture. "Are you quite comfortable?" "Yes." "And your foot?" "Seems very much better." "Good night then, I will call you in the morning." "Good night," said the girl gratefully, "and God bless you for a true and noble man." CHAPTER XII ON THE TWO SIDES OF THE DOOR