The leg was truly scary. Obscene to many. To a seasoned ER doc, it was just dangerous. The heavily muscled thigh was capable of holding literally quarts of blood—more than enough for someone to bleed out. The pain and internal bleeding had Cap hovering near shock. Lou had decided not to risk missing something potentially lethal by getting immersed too soon in the most obvious, spectacular injury. Now it was time to get to work on that.

He glanced back the way he’d come, wondering if he could possibly climb back up the cliff face to the trail. No chance. Besides, leaving Cap alone was something he could only bring himself to do after all other options had evaporated. For a half minute, while he collected his thoughts about the leg, he tried hollering for help. His cries were instantly swallowed by the dense forest. What about the river? If he could get Cap down there, perhaps he could fashion some sort of raft. But the woods were still shrouded in mist, and he could not even see the river from where they were.

Focus, Welcome. Focus!

The bleeding from the mid-shaft was continuing, and, if anything, seemed to be worsening. Lou checked for pulses behind each ankle and on the top of each foot. Left side, no problem. Right side, none. The femoral artery had almost certainly been torn. Big trouble.

It was then Lou realized Cap’s groans had stopped entirely. Again he went through the process—the A, B, Cs.

Pulse rate one fifteen. Pulse strength down from four to three on a ten scale.

“Come on, pal! Stay with me. Stay with me.”

Time was becoming even more of an enemy. He had to put on a tourniquet near the groin. Cap was still moving air effectively. His pupils were midsize and equal. Was there hemorrhage between his skull and brain? It didn’t look like it, but if there was, Lou knew there was little he could do about it. It had to be first things first. He had to continue to stem the blood loss.

“Cap, it’s Lou. I’m here.”

The moaning began again—barely audible, then louder. Lou got to work on the fractured leg.

“Cap, you’re bleeding badly,” he said, uncertain if his words were registering. “I’m going to have to apply a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. It’s going to hurt. I need you to brace yourself. I’ve got to move your leg.”

From within his pack he removed the nylon rope and his Spyderco knife. He measured off an arm’s length of cord and was readying to cut it off when something made him stop.

Again, the process. He had to remain focused, but at the same time stay cognizant of what might lie ahead.