All night long she had been there unsleeping, hollow-eyed, and worn with tearless grief. She had done all she knew how to do. Before going for help she had removed his clothing and bound about his body strips torn from her dress to stop the bleeding of his shoulders where the silver bullet had torn across them. How the ball had missed giving a mortal wound was like a miracle.

Hoke Belew had tried to arouse him, but had failed. At intervals, during the night, Cassandra had managed to drop a little whiskey between his lips with a spoon, and she had bathed him with the stimulant over heart and lungs, and chafed his hands, and had tried to warm his feet by rubbing them and wrapping them up between jugs of hot water. She had bathed his bruised head and cut away the softly curling hair from the spot where his head had struck the