bumps and bruises and broken bones. "I had a right to look out for that dang railroad!"
"Oh-h-h! Fee-u-u-u! I think my stifle's out!" she said.
Bill was supporting her with one hand, carrying the pouch in the other, hoping she hadn't broken anything, but more anxious to get her off his hands at once than alarmed over her demonstration. At the worst, he thought, she couldn't have done much more than skin her knee.
"Let me help you up to the platform," he proposed, thinking anxiously of Kellogg and the last speeding minutes of his hour, twisting his neck to watch the hotel door. "You sit down in the waitin'-room and you'll be all right in a minute."
"No, I don't want to go there, I don't want to go there," she said, panting as if the pain of her hurt was hard to bear. "Take me to the wagon—the wagon, the wagon—oh-h-h! the wagon!"
"Where's it at?" Bill inquired, feeling panicky and alarmed. She must be hurt, she must be hurt badly, to take on in that tragic way.
"Back of the hotel—right down this road," she groaned. "He-elp me to the wagon!"
She leaned on him and grabbed his coat as if about to collapse, and Bill, certain now that she was going to faint, was in a sweat of alarm. He slung the troublesome pouch over his shoulder and squared off for action.
"I'll carry you over to MacKinnon's and tell him to get a doctor," he said.
