He
ran over to the bank and looked down. In another moment he had made his
way to a descending path which led him swiftly to the river's edge. The
girl remained at the top. The boy had said to her: "You stay there.
I'll tell you what to do."
"Is-is he killed?" she called with emotion.
"Killed! No. He's all right," he called back to her. "I can see him
move. Don't be frightened. He's not in the water. It was only about a
thirty-foot fall. You stay there, and I'll tell you what to do," he
added.
A few moments later, the boy called up: "He's all right, but his leg is
broken. You go to my father's camp--it's near. People are sure to be
there, and maybe father too. You bring them along."
In an instant the girl was gone. The boy, left behind, busied himself in
relieving the deformed broken-legged habitant. He brought some water in
his straw hat to refresh him. He removed the rocks and dirt, and dragged
the little man out.
"It was a close call--bien sur," said Denzil, breathing hard. "I always
said that place wasn't safe, but I went on it myself. That's the way in
life. We do what we forbid ourselves to do; we suffer the shames we damn
in others--but yes."
There was a pause, then he added: "That's what you'll do in your life,
M'sieu' Carnac.
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