Bart hurried into the house to telephone for a physician, while Alice in the rôle of a red-cross nurse, hurried on toward the fence. The shouts were growing fainter now. The boys, with white faces, followed her.
CHAPTER VIII
AN ODD LETTER
“Suppose he is dead?” faltered Fenn, as he stumbled along. “Will—will I be arrested.”
“Don’t worry until you see who it is, and how badly he is hurt,” advised Frank. They were soon at the fence. Ned and Frank parted the bushes that grew higher than the topmost rail, and plunged on through. Fenn followed, but Alice was going farther up, where she knew there was a gate.
The sight that met the eyes of the boys was most reassuring. Standing up on his big wagon was Jed Sneed, calmly pitching off cord wood into a pile. The fuel was evidently for Bart’s house.
“Were you—are you—that is—you aren’t dead; are you?” gasped Fenn. “Is—is anybody?”
“Not that I know of,” answered Jed, as he straightened up. “But I come pretty nigh bein’. As nigh as I want to. I just heard a bullet sing over my head, as I was stooping down to get hold of a stick. Who was shooting, anyhow?”