The Westerner returned carrying a loose shirt and a coat, which he drew entire over the injured shoulder, which left one sleeve empty.

“I guess that fixes you,” said he with satisfaction.

“Look here,” put in Bennington suddenly, “you’ve been mighty good to me in all this.  If you hadn’t come along as you did, these fellows would have nabbed me sooner or later, and probably I’d have lost the claims any way.  I feel I owe you a lot.  But I want you to know before you go any further that that don’t square us.  You’ve had it in for me ever since I came out here, and you’ve made it mighty unpleasant for me.  I can’t forget that all at once.  I want to tell you plainly that, although I am grateful enough, I know just why you have done all this.  It is because she asked you to.  And knowing that, I can’t accept what you do for me as from a friend, for I don’t feel friendly toward you in the least.”  His face flushed painfully.  “I’m not trying to insult you or be boorish,” he said; “I just want you to understand how I feel about it.  And now that you know, I suppose you’d better let the matter go, although I’m much obliged to you for fixing me up.”

He glanced at his shoulder.

Fay listened to this speech quietly and with patience.  “What do you intend to do?” he asked, when the other had quite finished.

“I don’t know yet.  If you’ll say nothing down below—­and I’m sure you will not—­I’ll contrive some way of keeping this procession down the hole, and of feeding them, and then I’ll relocate the claims myself.”

“With one arm?”

“Yes, with one arm!” cried Bennington fiercely; “with no arms at all, if need be!” he broke off suddenly, with the New Yorker’s ingrained instinct of repression.  “I beg your pardon.  I mean I’ll do as well as I can, of course.”

“How about the woman—­Arthur’s wife?  She’ll give you trouble.”

“She has locked herself in her cabin already.  I will assist her to continue the imprisonment.”

Fay laughed outright.  “And you expect, with one arm and wounded, to feed four people, keep them in confinement, and at the same time to relocate eighteen claims lying scattered all over the hills!  Well, you’re optimistic, to say the least.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” repeated Bennington doggedly.

“And you won’t ask help of a friend ready to give it?”

“Not as a friend.”

“Well,” Fay chuckled, apparently not displeased, “you’re an obstinate young man, or rather a pig-headed young man, but I don’t know as that counts against you.  I’ll help you out, anyway—­if not as a friend, then as an enemy.  You see, I have my marching orders from someone else, and you haven’t anything to do with it.”

Bennington bowed coldly, but his immense relief flickered into his face in spite of himself.  “What should we do first?” he asked formally.

“Sit here and wait for the kids,” responded Jim.