"Close the door, please!" she commanded quietly. Smythe closed it. "Where is he hurt?" she asked the Indian. "Here." He laid a hand on his stomach. "Was he unconscious?" "Yes. Long time." "How long has he been like that--awake?" "Maybe two hours." "What have you done? What have you given him?" "Whisky." "Nothing else?" "Water. Ammonia on face and breast." "Was there blood?" "Yes. From mouth." She had another struggle then, and the tears started in spite of all that she could do. But she conquered them. "Much blood?" "No. Little, only at first." "Thank you, Pete." Then, turning to Hillyer: "I want you, Robert, please, to drive home, and tell Mrs. Huntington to make up a bundle of the things I shall need. Wait! A pencil and a bit of paper, please." For a moment he did not move to comply. "What are you going to do, Marion?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly with the effort of speaking calmly. "I'm going to nurse him," she replied, meeting his look without flinching. "But, Marion! I don't--" "Pencil and paper, Robert!" she said firmly. He tore a leaf from a notebook, and gave it to her with his pencil. "Thank you," she said; and seated herself at the table to write. But there was the dilapidated hat again--so stained and soiled, a crumpled, tragic, intimate thing--arresting her. How it had filled her dreams! How she had laughed at it, fondly, tenderly, as a mother smiles at the battered school hat of her boy! Once, she had fancied it hanging on the pink wall in her room, a trophy, with a ribbon tied around its sweated band. And now she wanted to grab it up, and hug it to her breast. But she only lifted it gently, and placed it a little farther away, on the other side of the table. Then she made her notes. "There, Robert!" she said, rising, and handing the list to him. "Claire will know where to find them." He took the paper mechanically, his eyes fixed on Marion. "Will you come down, to the car for a moment?" he asked. She saw the look, and softened under it. But she could not answer his questions then. "No," she said. "Later, if you wish it." For a moment he hesitated. But he could say no more in the presence of Smythe and Pete, though they were talking together at the other side of the room. So he moved slowly away, but was suddenly stopped by a cry from Marion. "Oh! Oh!" she exclaimed. "Why didn't somebody--why didn't I think of it before? The car? Run, Robert! Drive down the road toward the lake. You'll overtake the sorrels--or meet them. Bring the doctor in the car. Fast, please!" Hillyer, without another word, ran and leaped into the automobile, and was soon bringing the echoes out of the hills again. He sank low in the seat, and fixed his eyes on the road that stretched out blinding white in the sunlight. CHAPTER XIV COALS OF FIRE