He complied without any comment. Lenore searched for what she needed to treat a wound and ran up-stairs. Dorn was sitting on a chair in his room, holding his arm, from which blood dripped to the floor. He smiled at her. "You would be a pretty Red Cross nurse," he said. Lenore placed a bowl of water on the floor and, kneeling beside Dorn, took his arm and began to bathe it. He winced. The blood covered her fingers. "My blood on your hands!" he exclaimed, morbidly. "German blood!" "Kurt, you're out of your head," retorted Lenore, hotly. "If you dare to say that again I'll--" She broke off. "What will you do?" Lenore faltered. What would she do? A revelation must come, sooner or later, and the strain had begun to wear upon her. She was stirred to her depths, and instincts there were leaping. No sweet, gentle, kindly sympathy would avail with this tragic youth. He must be carried by storm. Something of the violence he had shown with Glidden seemed necessary to make him forget himself. All his whole soul must be set in one direction. He could not see that she loved him, when she had looked it, acted it, almost spoken it. His blindness was not to be endured. "Kurt Dorn, don't dare to--to say that again!" She ceased bathing his arm, and looked up at him suddenly quite pale. "I apologize. I am only bitter," he said. "Don't mind what I say.... It's so good of you--to do this." Then in silence Lenore dressed his wound, and if her heart did beat unwontedly, her fingers were steady and deft. He thanked her, with moody eyes seeing far beyond her. "When I lie--over there--with--" "If you go!" she interrupted. He was indeed hopeless. "I advise you to rest a little." "I'd like to know what becomes of Glidden," he said. "So should I. That worries me." "Weren't there a lot of cowboys with guns?" "So many that there's no need for you to go out--and start another fight." "I did start it, didn't I?" "You surely did," She left him then, turning in the doorway to ask him please to be quiet and let the day go by without seeking those excited men again. He smiled, but he did not promise. For Lenore the time dragged between dread and suspense. From her window she saw a motley crowd pass down the lane to the main road. No harvesters were working. At the noon meal only her mother and the girls were present. Word had come that the I.W.W. men were being driven from "Many Waters." Mrs. Anderson worried, and Lenore's sisters for once were quiet. All afternoon the house was lifeless. No one came or left. Lenore listened to every little sound. It relieved her that Dorn had remained in his room. Her hope was that the threatened trouble had been averted, but something told her that the worst was yet to come. It was nearly supper-time when she heard the men returning. They came in a body, noisy and loitering, as if reluctant to break away from one another. She heard the horses tramp into the barns and the loud voices of drivers.