"He got up as soon as the Whitecaps came; I couldn't persuade him to go
back."

"We must carry him to the bed," said Mrs. Floyd. As they started to
raise him, Westerfelt opened his eyes, took a long breath, and sat up.
Without a word he rose to his feet, and between them was supported back
to his bed.

"His feet are like ice," said Mrs. Floyd, as she tucked the blankets
round him. "Why did you let him stand there?"

"It wasn't her fault, Mrs. Floyd," explained Westerfelt, with
chattering teeth. "I knew they meant trouble, and thought I ought to
be ready."

"You ought to have stayed in bed." Her eyes followed Harriet to the
fireplace. "No, daughter," she said, "go lie down; I'll stay here."

"I'd rather neither of you would sit up on my account," protested
Westerfelt; "I'm all right; I'll sleep like a log till breakfast. I
don't want to be such a bother."

"You ain't a bit of trouble," replied Mrs. Floyd, in a tone that was
almost tender. "We are only glad to be able to help. When I saw that
cowardly scamp draw his pistol and knife on you, I could 'a' killed
him. I've often told Harriet--"

"Mother, Mr. Westerfelt doesn't care to hear anything about him."
Harriet turned from the fire and abruptly left the room. Mrs. Floyd