Sitting on the ground with her back before Ethel she first gently raised the wounded arm, bringing the other one around to meet it.  Thanks to the low branch of a tree and to Nora’s recent physical culture exercises, making an almost superhuman effort she arose with her burden on her back.  Then grasping the girl’s knees she held them firmly, thereby supporting her injured leg, and started for the road, stopping now and then by a fence or stone to take breath and rest.  On and on in that failing light she bravely walked.

As she descended the hill she seemed to have gained new strength.  Now and then she’d speak cheering words to the wounded girl, trying to encourage her to bear her pain.  The rain pelted in Honora’s face, often blinding her.  The thunder rolled and the lightning played, but she showed no sign of faltering.  Onward she went, even faster.

Soon to her joy she beheld the main road, and after a few more rods a light from the Camp Fire.

“Shure,” she thought, “now I know why men in olden times looked for the fire from their camps.  It does cheer a body and give them new life.”

She was ready to drop when she reached Camp.  Ethel was no light weight.  While in Camp she had gained, and now she weighed nearly a hundred and thirty-seven pounds.  As Nora neared home she saw parties of men about to start on searching tours.  They had sent word by Mr. Adams to Harvey, and there he and his patrol stood ready to start.  Uncle John with the second party were there as well.  In some way the horse had escaped from the two men and had returned to Camp, but without Ethel.  Then they knew that she had been thrown.  And as for Nora, something dreadful must have happened to her, for Nora was so strong and self-reliant.

A shout rent the air when they beheld Nora Casey drenched to the skin, hatless, coatless, with nearly all of her skirt missing, and carrying on her back a hysterical, shrieking girl, while with no apparent effort she walked steadily towards them.  Harvery Bigelow’s admiration for one so strong and courageous showed itself on every line of his face.

Uncle John took Ethel from Nora and laid her on the Camp bed that had been brought from the tent.

“By Jove!” ejaculated Harvey as he examined Ethel’s ankle and pronounced it a compound fracture, “you’re all right, Miss Casey, first to staunch the blood and bandage her arm, and second to bind her ankle in such a surgeon-like manner, say nothing of carrying her on your back for over a mile and a half and holding her leg so that you saved her pain.  I take off my hat to you, Miss Casey.  You have the nerve and strength of a man.”

“I don’t see,” said Uncle John, “how in the name of heaven you managed to raise her, wounded as she was, upon your back—­let alone bringing her through the pouring rain a dark night like this.  Why! it’s been a regular thunder shower.  I’m glad that her mother knows nothing of it.”