"Let her dress your arm.

I have no doubt that unpretending woman knows more about surgery than all the men doctors in New York city.

Let her dress it." Thurstane partially threw off his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeve.
Clara gave one glance at the huge white arm with the small crimson hole in it, and turned away with a thrill which was new to her.

The Moqui woman washed the wound, applied a dressing which looked like chewed leaves, and put on a light bandage.
"Does it feel any better ?" asked Aunt Maria eagerly.
"It feels cooler," said Thurstane.
Aunt Maria looked as if she thought him very ungrateful for not saying that he was entirely well.
"An' my nose," suggested Glover, turning up his lacerated proboscis.
"Yes, certainly; your poor nose," assented Aunt Maria.

"Let the lady cure it." The female surgeon fastened a poultice upon the tattered cartilage by passing a bandage around the skipper's sandy and bristly head.
"Works like a charm 'n' smells like peach leaves," snuffled the patient.
"It's where it's handy to sniff at--that's a comfort." After much dumb show, arrangements were made for the night.