This unexpected reply startled Bill, and he gasped, knowing not what to say. His movement caused him to groan with pain, and only with difficulty he smothered an angry oath.
“Is there anything I can do for your leg?” the missionary asked. “I am quite a doctor, so might be able to help you.”
“Yes, it’s bad,” Bill acknowledged. “Hurt it on the trail. Look.” When the left bare leg was exposed, Norris beheld a nasty swelling, just above the ankle.
“It looks like a sprain,” the missionary remarked, examining it closely. “Hot applications and iodine will give you relief.”
The visitor made no comment but let the missionary wait upon him. Hot cloths were then applied, after which the swollen part was well painted with iodine.
“There, I guess that will do for the present,” Norris said, as he rose from his knees, corked the bottle and placed it upon a shelf.
“A rest will do you good. You may sleep in that little room over there. You will find it quite warm.”
“I’d rather sit here fer a while,” Bill replied. “Ye don’t mind if I smoke, do ye?”
“Not in the least. The Indians always smoked when they came to see me. Have you any tobacco?”
“No, I haven’t. Say, ye don’t happen to have any, do ye?”
“Yes, there is part of a plug which old Tom left the other day. He won’t mind you having it.”
Bill eagerly seized the tobacco, quickly whittled off several slices, and filled his blackened pipe. With a sigh of contentment, he leaned back in the chair.
“My! that’s good,” he said. “I’ve been sufferin’ fer days fer a smoke.”
