"Why, they shot you!" "Yes, they got me," was Orlando's husky reply, and he gave a funny little laugh.

Giggling, people had called it.
"How are we going to get you home ?" Mazarine asked.

"You can't ride." At that moment there was the rumbling jolt of a wagon.

It was the pioneer-emigrant returning from Askatoon to his camp.
A few minutes later Orlando was lying on some bags in the emigrant's wagon, while Mazarine rode beside it.

"It's only a few hundred yards to the house," said the emigrant sympathetically, as he looked down at the now unconscious figure in the wagon.
"It's four miles to his house," said Mazarine.