Suddenly she stopped in amazement. At her feet lay a young Indian girl.
She was lying on a blanket, and the yellow front of her deerskin tunic
was stained with blood.
Without an instant's hesitation Stella was on her knees beside the girl,
working with swift and gentle fingers to unfasten the tunic.
As she did so the girl opened her eyes, and, seeing Stella, smiled.
Then her Indian stoicism failed her, and she uttered a groan and
fainted.
"Poor thing," muttered Stella. "Poor, wounded, wild thing. Here lies the
wild wolf 'dying in the sun,' as the song says. I wonder if she knew the
song."
But by this time she had opened the tunic and saw a bullet wound on the
brown skin, through which the blood was oozing steadily.
She stood up and looked around for a water sign, and not far away
discovered a little clump of willows, which advertised a spring.
She hurried to it and filled her hat to the brim with the cool fluid and
rushed back to the wounded Indian girl, who had not yet recovered from
her fainting fit.
Stella bathed her head, washed her wound, and then poured some of the
water between her lips.
At that the girl opened her eyes, and, with another smile, opened her
lips as if to speak.
"Rest now, dear," said Stella, with so much pity and love in her voice
that the girl could only smile once more, and gratefully close her eyes.
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