Instantly she saw that it was wounded and with a little cry she ran toward it and caught it.  Instinctively the tiny animal seemed to recognize her as a friend and ceased to struggle.  One of its fore legs had been broken, as she quickly saw.

With a little exclamation of compassion, she sat down upon a hummock, tore from her skirt a bit of cloth, found, on the ground, two twigs, made of these crude materials rude splints and bandages, bound the wounded creature, and sent it on its painful way again.  She sighed as, after having watched it for a moment, she arose.

“Pears like us human bein’s always was a-hurtin’ somethin’,” she soliloquized, distressed.  “Thar some chap has left that rabbit in misery behind him, and here I’ve sent Joe Lorey down the mountain with a worse hurt than it’s got.”  She sighed.  “It certain air a funny world!” she said.

The subject of the wounded rabbit did not leave her mind until she had clambered down the rocky path half-way to the small stream which she sought below.  She was ever ready with compassion for the suffering, especially for dumb and helpless suffering animals, and, besides, the episode had puzzled her.  Who was there in those mountains who would wound a rabbit?  Joe might have shot one, as might any other of the mountain dwellers who chanced to take a sudden fancy for a rabbit stew for supper, but Joe nor any of the other natives would have left it wounded and in suffering behind him.  Too sure their markmanship, too careful their use of ammunition, for such a happening as that.  Trained in the logic of the woods, the presence of the little suffering animal was a proof to her that strangers were about.  The people of the mountains regard all strangers with suspicion.  Half-a-dozen times she stopped to listen, half-a-dozen times she started on again without having heard an alien sound.  Once, from the far distance, she did catch a faint metallic clinking, as of the striking of a hammer against rock, but it occurred once only, and she finally attributed it to the mysterious doings of the railroad people in the valley.

Down the path she sped, now, rapidly and eagerly.  It was plain that something which she planned to do when she reached her destination filled her with anticipation of delight, for her red lips parted in a smile of expectation as charming as a little child’s, her breath came in eager pantings not due wholly to the mere exertion of the rapid downward climb.  When, beyond a sudden turn in the rude trail, she suddenly saw spread before her the smooth waters of a pool, formed by the creek in a hill-pocket, she cried aloud with pleasure.

“Ah,” said she.  “Ah!  Now here we be!”

But it was not at this first pool she stopped.  Leaving the path she skirted its soft edge, instead, and, after having passed down stream some twenty yards or more, pushed her skilled way between the little trees of a dense thicket and into a dim, shadowy woods chamber on beyond, where lay another pool, velvety, en-dusked, save for the flicker of the sunlight through dense foliage.