Part 23 (2/2)

”Bring me that packet of cotton-wool, the little leather case, all the bandages, and the bottle with the red label, at once. Tell the trooper to fetch the others.”

By the time he returned she had the handkerchief the trooper had bound round the old man's leg loosened.

”Open the case and give me the scissors,” she said without a trace of excitement or nervousness in her voice.

She slipped a rent in the trouser and held the edges back, revealing a punctured wound out of which a red stream gushed. In a moment she had a wad of cotton-wool rolled and moistened it from the bottle with the red label, placing it with a firm light touch on the wound.

”While I hold this, cut the trouser leg right down,” she said, and Harding, his own nerves steadied by the calmness of hers, did as she bid.

The trooper came over with the rest of the articles, and while she watched what Harding was doing she told him, quietly, how to prepare a lotion and bring it to her.

Gale came over as soon as he had secured his horses.

”Will you go down to the men's huts and see if there is a bunk where we can put him?” she said, looking quickly at Gale.

”Why didn't you think of that?” Gale exclaimed as he glanced at the trooper. ”You ought to have taken them there at once.”

”You had better go too,” she added to the trooper. ”Bring something back with you, a door or a table or anything that will do to carry him on.”

Left alone with Harding, she never ceased until she had the wound stanched, cleansed, and properly bound up.

”There is brandy in that flask, Fred. Mix about a tablespoonful in three times as much water.”

He brought her the stuff in a pannikin, believing it was for herself.

”Raise his head gently,” she said, and slowly poured the mixture between the old man's nerveless lips.

Without a pause she turned to Durham and had the ugly wound on his scalp laid bare. Snipping the hair away from it, she lightly touched the bruised skin surrounding the jagged cut.

”I'm afraid the skull is fractured--I hope the doctor will soon be here,” she whispered, as she busied herself with the cotton-wool and red-labelled bottle.

By the time she had Durham's head bandaged, Gale and the trooper returned, carrying the door from one of the huts.

”There are two huts with a single bunk in each, and one with four,” Gale said.

”Use the two with the single bunks,” she said. ”When are the others coming from the towns.h.i.+p?”

”They're coming along the road now,” the trooper answered.

”Run and see if they have any blankets with them. If not, send someone back at once for some.”

But there was more than blankets in the buggy that came up at breakneck speed. By the veriest chance the doctor had been within a mile or so of Waroona and had come away at once, bringing with him such articles as he knew would be wanted. He hastened over to the two wounded men just as Dudgeon gave utterance to the first sound he had made since the troopers had dragged him out of the burning homestead.

The doctor bent over him, rapidly examining the bandage round the leg.

He stood up and turned to Durham.

”Who put on those bandages?” he asked sharply, as he looked up.

”I did, doctor. I plugged the bullet-hole with an iodoform wad and stopped the bleeding. I put a pad on Mr. Durham's wound, but I fancy his skull is injured.”

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