The wagon had been moving slower and slower, the tired mules showing little desire to hasten. As Jack finished speaking they stopped short, and Williams turned around. “Say!” he said. “These mules are plumb wore out. We got to stop unless you want to kill ’em.” Jack rode to the front of the wagon and stared ahead through the dimming corridors of coming night. All afternoon the wagon had been moving through a deepening gloom, and now the darkness seemed to have shut down. One single patch of blue sky, far ahead, told where the road came out for a moment on the bank of the river, and showed that the sun had not yet set. “There seems to be an opening a couple of hundred yards ahead,” he said. “We’ll stop there. Drive on if you can.” Williams cracked the whip and shouted, but the tired mules refused to respond, until Cato came forward. “Dat ain’t no way to treat a mule, massa,” he said. “Lemme try what I can do, massa, please do, suh.” Williams flung down the reins and jumped from the wagon to the ground. Anger and fear had sadly frayed his temper. “Try what you d-- please,” he growled, and walked ahead, leaving Cato to coax the mules to a fresh effort that brought the wagon at last to the spot that Jack had selected. As the wagon stopped, Jack went to the back. “Come out, youngster,” he ordered, kindly. “It’ll do you good to stand and move about a little.” He held out his arms as he spoke. But the girl shrank back. “I can get out alone,” she faltered. Jack grinned. “All right!” he agreed, cheerfully. “Try it if you like. I’ll catch you if you fall.” He stood back and waited. Cautiously the girl clambered out and down. She reached the ground safely, but as her weight came upon her wounded leg, she tottered and would have fallen if Jack had not caught her and held her up, while the swimming world spun round. Her pride vanished and she clung to him desperately, feeling again the curious sense of safety that she had felt when he had held her a few hours before. She clung fast until the rush of blood to her temples quieted; then, as she straightened herself, she heard Jack’s voice. “Bravo!” he cried. “You’re doing fine. Just a step or two--a step or two. There! That’s it.” She felt herself lowered to a seat upon a great limestone boulder that protruded from the mold close against a big tree. “How does your wound feel now?” “Good!” The girl stretched her leg cautiously. “I guess I’d better not disturb the dressings tonight,” went on the boy, doubtfully. “I did the best I could this morning, and it would probably do more harm than good to fool with them. What do you think.” “Wound does very well.” Not for worlds would Alagwa have submitted it to his inspection.