And then, Doctor, I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind." She watched them retreat to the bunk-house together, Swan's big form towering above the doctor's slighter figure.
Swan was talking earnestly, the mumble of his voice reaching Lorraine without the enunciation of any particular word to give a clue to what he was saying.

But it struck her that his voice did not sound quite natural; not so Swedish, not so careful.
Frank came tiptoeing out of the room where Brit lay bandaged and unconscious and stood close to Lorraine, looking down at her solemnly.
"How 'n 'ell did he git here--the doctor ?" he demanded, making a great effort to hold his voice down to a whisper, and forgetting now and then.
"How'd _he_ know Brit rolled off'n the grade?
Us here, _we_ never knowed it, and I was tryin' to send him back when you came.

He said somebody telephoned there was a man hurt in a runaway.

There ain't a telephone closer'n the Sawtooth, and that there's a good twenty mile and more from where Brit was hurt.

It's damn funny." "Yes, it is," Lorraine admitted uncomfortably.