"I'm here," replied a faint voice. "Is it you, Jim?" "Yes. Why have you run away, Flora? Wasn't one enough?" "Where is your fire? What are you doing?" "My fire seems to have gone out. I'm not doing anything." "But--what is the matter with you?" "Nothing much. Cut my leg--like a fool." The girl dropped pack and gun and rustled dry wood for the second time within the hour. She worked in silence, fumbling in the dark; and Jim, too, was silent. The dogs whined anxiously. She found a white birch, from which she tore strips of bark, and she hacked away dozens of the dead lower branches of big spruces and firs. Soon strong flames were leaping, and by their light she saw Jim lying, rolled in blankets, on the snow. Only his head was uncovered. His eyes were wide open, regarding her fixedly. "Didn't it work? Are they after you?" he asked. For answer, she freed her feet from the snowshoes and knelt beside him. "You are badly hurt!" she cried fearfully. "Let me see it! You have lost a lot of blood! How did you do it? Where is it?" "My left leg," he answered. "Did it with the ax, like an idiot. Had fool's luck enough to miss the bone, by the feel of it. Doesn't hurt much, but bled a good deal. But what brought you along, Flora? Didn't our little game work? Or did you suddenly remember that you didn't thank me before I left?" She did not answer his questions or meet his glance, but piled more fuel on the fire and set to unrolling the blankets gently and swiftly from about his legs. The heavy stockings on his left leg were wet and sticky with blood. Her exploring fingers were stained with it. "You didn't tie it up!" she exclaimed. "I tried to," he replied. "Tried to cut a strip of blanket for a bandage. Went groggy all of a sudden. Keeled over; just had time and sense enough to roll up snug in my blankets, so's not to get frost in the wound. Next thing I knew, the dogs were licking my face. Must have been unconscious for hours." She produced bandages as if by magic, but with the help of a sharp knife. She cut away patches of the blood-soaked stockings and bound the deep wound. While she worked, he continued to repeat the question, but for all he learned she might as well have been deaf and dumb. Having completed the bandaging and covered the leg again, she gathered tips of cedar and fir and made a mattress and rolled him gently onto it. Then she melted snow in a smoky kettle, boiled the water, made tea, and fried bacon. She toasted bread and buttered it hot, sat down close beside him and poured tea into the only available mug. He put out a hand suddenly and gripped her nearest wrist with fingers like iron. "Do you hear me?" he cried. "I have asked you a dozen times! Why have you come after me?" "To find you," she answered faintly, with averted face. "But what's the idea? What use my running away from the police if you run too?" "Jim, do you really think I shot Amos Hammond?"