Rymer went back into the shack, presently returning with the liquor and accompanied by the young doctor, who still had his sleeves rolled up.  Louise swallowed the fiery dram.

“That—­that would raise the dead!” she gasped, wiping sudden tears from her eyes.  She sat up, pushed back the hair from her brow, and began to glance about.

“How’s your man?” Bryant asked the doctor.

“Right as a trivet—­if no complications set in.  Have him stowed on a cot in the inner room.  Bring on your next.”

“You ought to be the next,” said Lee, darkly.

“Because I grabbed her?  Well, I’ll use her another time if she’s about.  Steady as a pin.  No wasted motion, either.  Passed me instruments and things like a veteran nurse.  I just gave a nod or glance and she had the right tray.  I wanted to pat her on the shoulder.  Can’t give people that thing; it’s a born knack.  Knowing exactly what’s wanted at the instant.  She has it, has it to the tips of her fingers.”

Lee said no more.  The young doctor was still labouring under the excitement of the past hour and swimming in exultation at performing an operation that would have taxed the skill of an experienced surgeon.  It had been one of those wicked cases—­arm crushed to the shoulder, everything gone into a hodge-podge of flesh and arteries and splintered bone, a case for fast work and at the same time for delicate closure of the stump.  This had been thrust at Higginson like a flash, he out of a medical school but a year and a half, still coaxing a moustache, so to speak.  Lee perceived it all.  The matter for Higginson had been like the ditch with Bryant:  something tremendous, something to be met with the means at hand, something to be accomplished at all costs.  And now his brain was ringing with triumph.  He was superior to anything Bryant might think or say or do.  For the moment he was quite ecstatic.  One in his exalted state could conceive nothing unmeet in having haled a strange, sensitive girl into the ghastly business for an assistant.

“I’ll conduct Miss Graham to my office, where she can remain until she’s wholly herself,” Bryant said.  “This air is too sharp.  You have everything, Rymer—­cap, coat, gauntlets?  Bring them along.”

“But I’m feeling better now,” Louise protested.

“You’re not yet fit to start home.  Over there it’s warm and quiet.”  He rose to help her remove the great apron.

In the shack at the head of the street where he led her, he made her comfortable in an old arm-chair from his ranch house with a Navajo rug over her lap.  As he stirred up the fire, she gazed about at the room.  In one corner was a desk knocked together of boards, littered with papers; near it on the floor were boxes stuffed with rolls of blue-prints; the wall spaces between windows were filled with statements and reports; bulging card-board files rested on a shelf; from nails hung an old coat and a camera; in another corner leaned