There was a great outcry from the party when Helen appeared in the arms of Lewis with an ostentatious bandage on her ankle, so that the verdict of a sprain was established without the attending physician’s having to perjure himself with a false diagnosis.

Helen was looking very pale and tired, and thankful indeed was she for the bony back of Josephus, that was destined to bear her home. She and Bobby both found room on the patient old mule, who started off with his usual bird-like spirit, seemingly proud of his fair burden.

“I am afraid we are too much for Josephus,” Helen said to Josh.

“Naw’m! Josephus is proud to tote the likes of you allses. He is jes’ a been tellin’ we uns that he is thankful his short leg is up the mounting so Miss Helen will ride mo’ easy like.”

“Well, I’ll give him some sugar when we get home,” laughed Helen.

Dr. Wright kept close by the side of the mule wherever the trail permitted and once or twice held out his hand to feel the pulse of the patient. That is the danger of snake bite: that the pulse may become feeble. The old treatment of whisky, drunk in large quantities, is now thought to have been the cause of more deaths from snake bites than the bites themselves. Persons unaccustomed to liquor could not stand the large doses that were poured down them by well-meaning friends. The present day treatment is: strychnia to keep up the pulse and the thorough burning out of the wound, after it has been sucked by a healthy mouth.

A sprained ankle is nothing to dampen the spirits of youth and so the crowd went back as gaily as it came. Helen could not help thinking how differently they would have behaved had they known the true inwardness of her having to ride on the back of the mule that reminded her of nothing so much as a saw-horse. Had they understood that a rattlesnake had taken a nip out of her tendon Achilles, it would have put an end to their cheerfulness and also an end to their week-end boarders if she was not mistaken.

“Suppose it is going to do me as it did old Uncle Snake-bit Peter we used to see up at Wytheville,” she said to herself, “with his leg all drawn up and shrivelled.” She got giddy at the thought and then it was that Dr. Wright, who seemed to know exactly what was in her mind, put out his hand and felt her pulse and then gave her another tiny pellet. He looked so good and so dependable and seemed so confident that all was going well with her, she felt she must perforce have faith in him.

“‘I will look unto the hills from whence cometh my help,’” came to her lips, and she whispered the text softly.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” she blushed, “I was talking to myself.”

“You were blowing down my neck,” said Bobby, who was perched in front of her. “If you were whiskering to me, I didn’t hear what you said. ’Tain’t perlite to whisker in comp’ny, and, ’sides, I always tell my ’ployer what you say ’bout him, anyhow.”

Helen was silent. Would she ever be able to live down all the unkind things she had said about Dr. Wright? How could he be so nice to her? Of course, she understood that he had done what any physician would have done in treating the wound, although he might have called Lewis Somerville to do the extremely objectionable part of the process of cleaning the bite. Since Lewis was a cousin and in the mountains as protector to her and her sisters, it might have been up to him to render first aid, since the tendon Achilles is so situated that it would take a contortionist to administer treatment to oneself. If Dr. Wright had only done his duty as laid down in the code of medical ethics, he certainly had a wonderfully pleasing sick room manner and his patients must one and all give him praise for sympathy and understanding.

“Gwen done promised me’n Josh to have some gingerbread made by the time we gits back from hiking,” broke in Bobby. “I is a-hopin’ that all this joltin’ is gonter shake down my lunch some, ’cause sho’s you’s born I don’t want what I done et. If Josephus stumbles agin I reckon my stomick will growl an’ then I’m most sho’ I kin hole a leetle mo’ if it’s gingerbread. Gwen kin make the bes’es’ an’ sof’es’ an’ blackes’ gingerbread what I ever et.”

At the mention of Gwen, Helen’s thoughts went back to the Devil’s Gorge where her father had met such a tragic end, and the wallet she had seen in the branches of the scrub oak tree flashed in her mind’s eye.

“The wallet! The wallet! We forgot to get it out of the tree,” she exclaimed.

“By Jove! So we did! Somehow, other things seemed more important.”

“I wonder what it was. It might have been in the Englishman’s pocket, and when he fell down the cliff, it might have got caught in the branches of the scrub oak. I wish I knew.”

Camp looked very peaceful and homelike when the hikers returned. The card players were still at it and seemed all unconscious of the lengthening shadows. Mrs. Tate took occasion while she was dummy to embrace her offspring and to suggest that she put witchhazel on her sunburned countenance. The bachelor uncle played through his no trump hand before he could assure himself of his niece’s safety. Miss Lizzie Somerville had felt no uneasiness about the crowd, because was not her beloved Lewis taking care of them? She was somewhat concerned when she learned that her favorite among the girls had sprained her ankle but thanked her stars that it was only a sprain and not a snake bite or something terrible.

“I have a dread of snakes,” she said as she stood over Helen in the tent where Dr. Wright had tenderly borne her, and where she lay on her cot, thankful indeed to be off the sharp back of Josephus and at rest on what was not exactly a luxurious bed but very comfortable to her tired bones. “It was a blessing that Dr. Wright was with you and could bind up your ankle so nicely. Does it pain you much, child?”

“No’m, not much! Not at all right now.”

“Well, as I said before, I am thankful it was not a snake bite as I was sure none of you had carried whisky with you, and that is the only thing to use when a snake bites you, so I have always been told. No matter what your habits or convictions are, you must drink whisky if a snake bites you. Am I not right, doctor?”

“Well, whisky is better than nothing, but there are things that are better than whisky,” smiled the young man, wishing that Miss Somerville would get away from the painful subject and realizing more than ever how wise Helen had been to conceal the real cause of her being out of the running. “Strychnia is the treatment of modern science, as it is more efficacious than whisky to keep up the pulse.” He felt Helen’s pulse while he was talking, which seemed to Miss Somerville rather unnecessary concern for a sprained ankle, and she went off murmuring to herself: “‘There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea four, which I know not: The way of an eagle in the air, the way of a serpent upon a rock, the way of a ship in the midst of the sea, and the way of a man with a maid.’”

Douglas came in, white and scared. Lewis had broken the news to her as gently as possible, but the sound of snake bite was a terrible one to her young ears. She, too, remembered old Uncle Snake-bit Peter and his withered limb.

“Helen, Helen!” she cried and burst into tears.

“Why, Douglas, buck up! Dr. Wright says I am doing splendidly and there is nothing to fear. He did everything that could be done, and because he was right on the spot, it was attended to so quickly that the poison could not get into my system. I feel fine, and mean to be up a great deal sooner than I would if it had been just a common sprain. We must keep it dark, though, and not let a soul know it is anything but what they think it is.”

Douglas was reassured by the calm confidence of the doctor and relieved, indeed, to see that Helen was meaning to obey him in everything.

“She had better stay perfectly quiet for several days just to be sure, and I will treat the poor heel where I had to cauterize it. That will, of course, be sore for a while.”

“All right,” said Helen with unaccustomed meekness, “but I did think I might get up to-morrow. But I’ll be good as I want to get well, perfectly well, so I can go to the Devil’s Gorge again and get the wallet.”

“But would you venture there again?”

“Certainly! But next time I’ll wear high shoes and leggins and look where I step. I think I deserve some of Aunt Mandy’s black snake whip as a punishment. I do wish I knew what was in that wallet—if it was a wallet.”

The doctor smiled and left the tent to the sisters, who clung to each other with all the affection they had. They realized what they meant to one another more than they ever had before, now that this thing had occurred that might have proved very serious.

“We mustn’t let a soul know what the trouble is, Douglas. Of course, you realize it would send our week-end boarders anywhere but to the mountains.”

“Yes, I see it would, just the way they all talk about snakes. I tell you one thing, though—we must make leggins obligatory for hikers. Maybe it would be well to order a few extra pair when we order the blankets for those persons, like Tillie Wingo, who will not do what they are told.”

“I believe so, too. And now, honey, please get Gwen to bring me something very simple for my supper. I believe I’ll join the bread and milk club to-night and not try to eat anything heavy. I feel so sleepy I can hardly keep my eyes open. I do hope I am not going to dream about snakes. I’d sleep better if I only knew what was in the wallet I saw hanging in the tree.”