answered Mehitable shortly. She looked at the tall, straight figure contemptuously, for her father had told her of his trying to steal her mother's candlestick holders. But Charity, whose quiet eyes were more observant, uttered a little cry.
"Why, you are hurt!"
The Indian swayed a little; but shook his head in denial.
"But you are!" insisted Charity. "See, there is blood upon the floor!"
Mehitable's slower gaze had just verified this fact when the Indian, as though at the end of his endurance, staggered and slowly sagged into the chair the girls were quick-witted enough to push toward him.
"Ugh, hurt!" he acknowledged, then. His blanket fell away at that instant and Charity gave another pitiful cry, for the Indian's brightly beaded hunting shirt was rapidly crimsoning beneath his heart.
"Oh, Hitty, what shall we do?"
Mehitable's round cheeks were pale as she gazed; but not for nothing was she a pioneer's daughter.
"Do!" she repeated scornfully. "Why, bind it up, of course!"
"Can't—can't we wait for Mother? She will be back in another hour," stammered Charity, shrinking. But Mehitable shook her head sturdily.
It was only when the hard task was finished, the open wound washed and dressed, that the Indian, who had sat in stoical silence all through the operation, spoke again.
