Artie realized in a moment that it was exhaustion and the loss of blood
that caused Westy’s faint, so he braced himself and, with a prayer for
the strength to do it, he managed to get him partly over his shoulder.
Leaving the rifle, lantern and rope behind, he continued on, as he knew
that he needed both hands and arms now for his present burden.
Coming out into the clearing at last, he could see that the cabin was in
total darkness. He was breathing laboriously under the strain of Westy’s
dead weight, but was supremely thankful that he had at least succeeded
in getting him there safely.
Kicking the door and calling loudly, he waited a minute, but received no
response from within. He then laid Westy down upon the ground tenderly.
The moonlight streamed through the whole interior of the cabin as Artie
opened the door. Looking around, he saw to his further consternation
that Uncle Jeb had not returned.
To resuscitate Westy was his first immediate duty and then to go to
Uncle Jeb’s relief was his next. He lighted the lamps and, fixing the
bunk, he proceeded to get Westy into it. He removed his shoes and then
set to work bathing his mutilated hand. He looked with pity at those
poor gashed fingers. What a sacrifice, he thought, for him to make in
order to get him out of the hollow and get back to give Uncle Jeb
assistance as quickly as possible. Instinct had surely warned Westy
aright in this case, for the poor old scout hadn’t been able to make the
grade after all.
So Artie hurriedly ministered to Westy and awaited anxiously for him to
regain consciousness. His eager eyes detected a slight flush gradually
mounting in those white cheeks. After a little while the eyelids
flickered and opened slowly. A wan smile lighted his features when he
saw Artie, anxious and concerned, sitting there waiting, a glass of
water in his hand.
Artie held the glass to Westy’s lips, supporting his head meanwhile with
his free hand.
“Feel better, huh?” Artie asked, manifesting his concern.
“Uh huh! Feeling sleepy, though.”
“That’s fine! It’ll do you good, Wes. Go to it!”
“Say, Art?”
“What?”
“Where’s Uncle Jeb? He didn’t get back, did he?”
“No, but don’t worry, Wes! I’ll have him here before you’re awake,”
Artie said more decisively than he was inclined to feel. “Guess you will
be O.K. till I get back. I’ll leave a lantern lighted.”
“Sure, I’ll be all right! Feel tired enough to sleep all day to-morrow.
Hope you get him back safe!”
“You can bank on it that I will! Now go to sleep!”
“One thing more, Art!”
“Yes?”
Artie, approaching the bunk, saw Westy’s face wreathed in smiles and his
hand extended. He clasped it, and with a look that told more than words
could ever tell, he turned and walked out of the cabin.
With lantern in hand, Artie descended into the gulley walking along
cautiously, anxiously looking for some sign or footprint of Uncle Jeb.
Coming to the spot where Westy had left him, he found him lying there,
burning with fever and delirious.
How he ever succeeded in getting Uncle Jeb back to the cabin, Artie
could never quite say. It was nothing more than superhuman effort that
came to his aid in getting the sick man up out of the gulley without
adding to his discomfort any more than he could help.
Dawn was just beginning to tinge the far horizon with little flecks of
light, when Artie half-carried, half-dragged Uncle Jeb into the cabin
and laid him in his bunk.
Westy had not awakened, and his quiet, steady breathing bespoke the fact
that his slumber was unbroken and nature had once more reasserted
itself.
Though his body was utterly weary and his eyes felt weighted down with
want of sleep, Artie kept constant vigil by Uncle Jeb’s side. He bathed
his swollen foot at intervals until the swelling began to gradually
diminish.
The hole in his head was what worried Artie most, and he figured that
Uncle Jeb, after catching his foot in the bear trap under the elm tree,
probably tried with much exertion, to extricate it from the vise that
held it, and in his excitement had stepped back further than he was
aware. In his fall into the gulley he must have struck his head on a
sharp rock. The only thing to do was to keep the wound clean and wait
until Westy had awakened. Then, he could go to the Inn and get the
doctor who was stopping there now.
About nine o’clock Westy awoke, refreshed and better. He wanted to go to
the Inn himself, seeing the haggard, drawn look on Artie’s face, but the
tired boy wouldn’t hear of it, so he did as he was told and took up the
vigil.
When Artie returned from the Inn that afternoon with the doctor, he
looked as if he needed medical attention himself and that learned person
told him so. But he assured him that sleep was all that he required.
Uncle Jeb was in a delirious state again, as they entered, and his
temperature had mounted considerably, so the doctor lost no time in
caring for him.
After a while when the fever had subsided somewhat and the sick man had
lapsed into a heavy sleep, the doctor turned to attend to Westy’s wants.
Going about his task he marveled at the courage the boy possessed to
have done a thing like that.
That night the physician stayed on, and also the two following nights.
The anxious trio were weary and worn with the long waiting, for Uncle
Jeb’s condition was serious. It was a crucial test for the two young
scouts, and they were grieved and filled with apprehension that perhaps
they would have to return alone.
The night of the third day there was a change in his condition--for the
better. He slept throughout the night, the doctor never leaving his
side; likewise the boys.
Then, as the last glittering star in the ethereal firmament faded away,
he opened his eyes and gazed weakly, but wide-eyed, around him.