“Oh, I’ll be all right in a minute, fellows,” said Fenn, trying to smile, but making rather poor work of it. “It’s the heat, I guess.”
“It is hot,” agreed Bart.
“You go ahead and I’ll catch up to you,” proposed Fenn. “I’m feeling a little better now.”
“No, you stay here and we’ll fetch the rest of the stuff,” repeated Frank, and he insisted on it, with such good reason, also pointing out that if any tramps came along they might steal the tent, that Fenn consented to remain on guard. In fact he was very glad to do so, as he felt a curious sensation in his head and stomach, and he was not a little alarmed, as he had never been seriously ill.
“I hope he isn’t going to be sick,” observed Bart, as the boys started back to the station. “We’ll have to give up our camp if he is.”
“Oh, he’ll be all right,” asserted Ned, confidently. “It was only the heat and the walk.”
But when the boys returned with the remainder of the camp stuff two hours later, they found an unpleasant surprise awaiting them.
In the tent, stretched out on some hemlock boughs which they had cut before leaving, they found poor Fenn. He was very pale and his eyes were closed.
“He’s asleep,” whispered Ned.