A moment later she emerged from the bushes and clambered up the bank.
"Did you get him ?" was the first question she asked.
"No." Keith gave the girl a swift glance, and turning quietly, he asked one of the men to help him off with his coat.

In the light of the lamp he had a curious expression on his white face.
"Terpy was that skeered about you, she swore she was goin' down there to help you," said the miner who still held the hat.
A box on the ear from the young woman stopped whatever further observation he was going to make.
"Shut up.

Don't you see he's hurt ?" She pushed away the man who was helping Keith off with his coat, and took his place.
No one who had seen her as she relieved Keith of the coat and with dexterous fingers, which might have been a trained nurse's, cut away the bloody shirt-sleeve, would have dreamed that she was the virago who, a few moments before, had been raging in the road, swearing like a trooper, and cuffing men's ears.
When the sleeve was removed it was found that Keith's arm was broken just above the elbow, and the blood was pouring from two small wounds.
Terpy levied imperiously on the other passengers for handkerchiefs; then, not waiting for their contributions, suddenly lifting her skirt, whipped off a white petticoat, and tore it into strips.

She soon had the arm bound up, showing real skill in her surgery.

Once she whispered a word in his ear--a single name.