The boys were much frightened, especially Ned and Bart. Frank, from the experience he had had with his father, knew a little more than did the others about cases of illness. He read what it said on the bottle of pills and decided it would be safe to give Fenn several of the pellets.
“Now, we’d better get the camp in shape for night,” said Frank. “We’ve got to stay here until morning, no matter what happens. We can’t move Fenn until he’s better.”
“Maybe he’ll not get better,” remarked Ned, rather gloomily.
“Oh, cut out such ideas,” advised Frank. “He’ll be all right. Probably his stomach is upset. Now hustle around and get a fire going. I want some hot coffee, and so do you. Then we’ll all feel better, after a bit of grub.”
Once Bart and Ned had something definite to do they did not worry so much about Fenn. Frank took a look at him, now and then, in the midst of the work of making the camp.
“He’s asleep,” he announced after one inspection. “I think his fever’s going down some.”
“That’s good,” commented Bart, his face losing some of its worried look.
The boys ate a hasty supper and then made a more comfortable bed for Fenn. The tent was big enough for all four to stretch out under it, but the three chums decided they would take turns sitting up, in order to administer to the sick lad.
Frank gave him some more medicine during the night, and, by twelve o’clock, Fenn was somewhat better, though he still had a fever.
It seemed that morning would never come, but, at length, there shone through the forest a pale, gray light, that turned to one of rosy hue, and then the golden sunbeams streamed through the trees.