She was cold when she got back into bed, for the chill of the mountain
nights was new to her. And an hour later, when she was almost dozing,
footsteps prowled about the tent, loitering in the leaves outside her
western window. David was sleeping, she must not interfere with a
moment of his restoring rest. She clasped her hands beneath the
covers, and moistened her feverish lips. If it were an Indian lurking
there, his deadly tomahawk upraised, she prayed he might strike the
fatal blow at once. But the steps passed, and she climbed on her knees
and lowered the flaps on the side where the steps sounded.
Later, the sudden tinkle of a bell across the grounds startled her into
sitting posture. No, it wasn't David, after all,--somebody else,--some
other woman's David, likely, ringing for the nurse. Carol sighed. How
could David get well and strong out here, with all these other sick
ones to wring his heart with pity? Were the doctors surely right,--was
this the land of health?
Again footsteps approached the tent, stirring up the dry sand, and
again Carol held her breath until they had passed. Then she grimly
closed the windows on the third side of her room, and smiled to herself
as she thought, "I'll get them up again before David is awake.
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