Then she saw her husband walking very wearily, and she ran forward with a little cry.

She grasped one of the poles between which a sagging blanket hung, and Weston, who held the ends of them, looked at her.
"Miss Kinnaird isn't hurt much," he said harshly.

"Don't stop us now!" Then she heard her daughter's voice bearing out this assurance, and she went back with the plodding men, while her husband stumbled along wearily at her side.

In a minute or two Weston, calling to one of the Indians, laid down his end of the poles, and, staggering away, sat down heavily.

None of them troubled themselves about him, and Ida, who had risen when she heard their voices, helped to convey Miss Kinnaird into the tent.