"Poor fellow!" she repeated. "Sit down."

The campstool creaked under the burden of his weight. She pulled up the
chair in front of him and placed his left hand on her knees.

"This is peroxide. Tell me if it hurts too much."

She spilled some of the liquid across his palm; it frothed.

"Ouch!" grunted Harrigan involuntarily.

She caught his wrists with both hands.

"Why, your whole arm is trembling! You must be in torture with this.
Have you made any complaint?"

"No."

She studied him for a moment, scenting a mystery somewhere and guessing
that he would not speak of it. And she asked no questions. She said not
a word and merely bowed her head and started to apply the salve with
delicate touches. For the result, a confession of all his troubles
tumbled up the big man's throat to his tongue. He had to set his teeth
to keep it back.

She became aware of those cold, incurious eyes studying her face as she
wrapped the gauze bandage deftly around the injured palms.

"Why do you watch me so closely?"