For his camp Venters chose a shady, grassy plot between the silver spruces and the cliff.  Here, in the stone wall, had been wonderfully carved by wind or washed by water several deep caves above the level of the terrace.  They were clean, dry, roomy.

He cut spruce boughs and made a bed in the largest cave and laid the girl there.  The first intimation that he had of her being aroused from sleep or lethargy was a low call for water.

He hurried down into the ravine with his canteen.  It was a shallow, grass-green place with aspens growing up everywhere.  To his delight he found a tiny brook of swift-running water.  Its faint tinge of amber reminded him of the spring at Cottonwoods, and the thought gave him a little shock.  The water was so cold it made his fingers tingle as he dipped the canteen.  Having returned to the cave, he was glad to see the girl drink thirstily.  This time he noted that she could raise her head slightly without his help.

“You were thirsty,” he said.  “It’s good water.  I’ve found a fine place.  Tell me—­how do you feel?”

“There’s pain—­here,” she replied, and moved her hand to her left side.

“Why, that’s strange!  Your wounds are on your right side.  I believe you’re hungry.  Is the pain a kind of dull ache—­a gnawing?”

“It’s like—­that.”

“Then it’s hunger.”  Venters laughed, and suddenly caught himself with a quick breath and felt again the little shock.  When had he laughed?  “It’s hunger,” he went on.  “I’ve had that gnaw many a time.  I’ve got it now.  But you mustn’t eat.  You can have all the water you want, but no food just yet.”

“Won’t I—­starve?”

“No, people don’t starve easily.  I’ve discovered that.  You must lie perfectly still and rest and sleep—­for days.”

“My hands—­are dirty; my face feels—­so hot and sticky; my boots hurt.”  It was her longest speech as yet, and it trailed off in a whisper.

“Well, I’m a fine nurse!”

It annoyed him that he had never thought of these things.  But then, awaiting her death and thinking of her comfort were vastly different matters.  He unwrapped the blanket which covered her.  What a slender girl she was!  No wonder he had been able to carry her miles and pack her up that slippery ladder of stone.  Her boots were of soft, fine leather, reaching clear to her knees.  He recognized the make as one of a boot- maker in Sterling.  Her spurs, that he had stupidly neglected to remove, consisted of silver frames and gold chains, and the rowels, large as silver dollars, were fancifully engraved.  The boots slipped off rather hard.  She wore heavy woollen rider’s stockings, half length, and these were pulled up over the ends of her short trousers.  Venters took off the stockings to note her little feet were red and swollen.  He bathed them.  Then he removed his scarf and bathed her face and hands.

“I must see your wounds now,” he said, gently.