Gale then set to work.  Yaqui’s part was to keep the fire blazing and the water hot, Mercedes’s to help Gale in what way she could.  Gale found Ladd had many wounds, yet not one of them was directly in a vital place.  Evidently, the ranger had almost bled to death.  He remained unconcious through Gale’s operations.  According to Jim Lash, Ladd had one chance in a hundred, but Gale considered it one in a thousand.  Having done all that was possible for the ranger, Gale slipped blankets under and around him, and then turned his attention to Lash.

Jim came out of his stupor.  A mushrooming bullet had torn a great hole in his leg.  Gale, upon examination, could not be sure the bones had been missed, but there was no bad break.  The application of hot salt water made Jim groan.  When he had been bandaged and laid beside Ladd, Gale went on to the cavalryman.  Thorne was very weak and scarcely conscious.  A furrow had been plowed through his scalp down to the bone.  When it had been dressed, Mercedes collapsed.  Gale laid her with the three in a row and covered them with blankets and the tarpaulin.

Then Yaqui submitted to examination.  A bullet had gone through the Indian’s shoulder.  To Gale it appeared serious.  Yaqui said it was a flea bite.  But he allowed Gale to bandage it, and obeyed when he was told to lie quiet in his blanket beside the fire.

Gale stood guard.  He seemed still calm, and wondered at what he considered a strange absence of poignant feeling.  If he had felt weariness it was now gone.  He coaxed the fire with as little wood as would keep it burning; he sat beside it; he walked to and fro close by; sometimes he stood over the five sleepers, wondering if two of them, at least, would ever awaken.

Time had passed swiftly, but as the necessity for immediate action had gone by, the hours gradually assumed something of their normal length.  The night wore on.  The air grew colder, the stars brighter, the sky bluer, and, if such could be possible, the silence more intense.  The fire burned out, and for lack of wood could not be rekindled.  Gale patrolled his short beat, becoming colder and damper as dawn approached.  The darkness grew so dense that he could not see the pale faces of the sleepers.  He dreaded the gray dawn and the light.  Slowly the heavy black belt close to the lava changed to a pale gloom, then to gray, and after that morning came quickly.

The hour had come for Dick Gale to face his great problem.  It was natural that he hung back a little at first; natural that when he went forward to look at the quiet sleepers he did so with a grim and stern force urging him.  Yaqui stirred, roused, yawned, got up; and, though he did not smile at Gale, a light shone swiftly across his dark face.  His shoulder drooped and appeared stiff, otherwise he was himself.  Mercedes lay in deep slumber.  Thorne had a high fever, and was beginning to show signs of restlessness.  Ladd seemed just barely alive.  Jim Lash slept as if he was not much the worse for his wound.