He put up his right hand; as he jerked vigorously there was the sound of tearing and ripping; he thrust the cloth down from the left side and laid bare his great chest and the powerfully muscled left shoulder and upper arm. Lynette shuddered; he had lost so much blood! And against the smooth perfect whiteness of his healthy skin the blood was so emphasized. She found the new wound.... "Shot in the back ... twice shot in the back," she said, and again she shivered. "And you don't know who shot you either time?" "I have my own idea about both," he said curtly. And had nothing to add. With the warm water and soap she cleansed the fresh wound and then the older one. Then, with gentle fingers, she did as he bade her with Billy Winch's salve, applying it generously. When the thing was done they looked at each other strangely; man and maid in the wild-wood, with much lying between them, with each asking swift unanswerable questions, with the night in the solitudes advancing. "It's a strange thing that you came back," said Standing. "Where better had I to go?" "I told you that Taggart and his friends were down there. You might have found them." She turned from him abruptly and went back to the fireplace; he could see only the curve of her cheek and a curl and her shoulder. "I have no greater liking for Sheriff Taggart than you have," she said. He wanted to see her face, but she was stubborn in refusing to turn. He said curiously: "Your friend, Baby Devil, ought to be overhauling them before long! If you think he decided to come this way?" She did not answer. He began to grow angry with her for that; for refusing to reply when he spoke; for refusing to discuss Babe Deveril. But he kept a shut mouth, though with the effort his jaws bulged. He began feeling in his pocket for pipe and tobacco; he felt the need of it.... He would have sworn that she had not looked and could not have seen, but when he struggled over the difficulty of doing everything with one hand she whirled and came forward impulsively and finished the task for him, packing the tobacco into the black bowl of his pipe and handing him a lighted splinter from the fire. He muttered something; she had gone back to her place at the fire and did not know whether his muttering was of thanks or curses; her attitude would have seemed to imply that either would find her indifferent. He smoked slowly; the strong tobacco, sharp and acrid, did him good; a man of steady nerve, he had come to a point where his nerves needed steadying; just now he wanted silence and his pipe and time to grope for certain readjustments. Sweeping in all his ways was Bruce Standing; in building up, tearing down, building up again; and always with him was the sheerest joy in building up.... And Lynette, for the first time in many hours, experienced a moment of bright happiness.