"Why, yes--of course," drawled little Eve Edgarton. "And your skin--"
Imperturbably as she spoke she pushed him down flat on the ground
again and began, with her hands edged vertically like two slim boards,
to slash little blissful gashes of consciousness and pain into his
frigid right arm. "You see--I had to take both your shirts," she
explained, "and what was left of your coat--and all of my coat--to
make a soft, strong rope to tie round under your arms so the horse
could drag you."

"Did the roan drag me--'way up here?" groaned Barton a bit hazily.

With the faintest possible gasp of surprise little Eve Edgarton
stopped slashing his arm and, picking up the lantern, flashed it
disconcertingly across his blinking eyes and naked shoulders. "The
roans are in heaven," she said quite simply. "It was Mother's horse
that dragged you up here." As casually as if he had been a big doll
she reached out one slim brown finger and drew his under lip a little
bit down from his teeth. "My! But you're still blue!" she confided
frankly. "I guess perhaps you'd better have a little more vodka."

Again Barton struggled vainly to raise himself on one elbow. "Vodka?"
he stammered.

Again the lifted lantern light flashed disconcertingly across his face
and shoulders. "Why, don't you remember--anything?" drawled little Eve
Edgarton. "Not anything at all? Why, I must have worked over you two
hours--artificial respiration, you know, and all that sort of
thing--before I even got you up here! My! But you're heavy!" she
reproached him frowningly. "Men ought to stay just as light as they