The answer was a long time coming. The face was bloodlessly grey. From
it a pair of close-set, shallow brown eyes looked shiftily. A tongue ran
back and forth between the colourless lips.

"It's my leg," he said. "I don't know if it's broke. And I'm sort of
bunged up." He looked up sharply. "Oh, I'll be all right," he grunted,
"and don't you fool yourself."

"Did Brodie----?"

The man began to tremble; the hands on his gun shook so that the weapon
veered and wavered uncertainly.

"Yes, rot his soul." He began to curse, at first softly, then with a
strained voice rising into a storm of windy incoherence. Suddenly he
broke off, eyeing King with suspicion upon the surface of his shallow
eyes. "What are you after?"

"I didn't know how badly you were hurt. I came to see if I could lend
you a hand."

"You know I don't mean that. What are you after, here in the mountains?"
His voice was surly with truculence.

King grew angry and burst out bluntly:

"The devil take you, Andy Parker. I wanted to help you. If you don't
take my interference kindly, I'll be on my way."

He turned to be off. Why the man was not already dead from that fall he