“Hang the balloon!” the man said, angrily. “I never want to set eyes on one again. I was a fool to believe I could play the part of an aeronaut. It’s nearly been the death of me; and all for nothing; all for nothing!”
Frank, of course, could not imagine what the man meant by those words. He seemed to be deeply moved, as though some pet scheme which he had been trying to carry out had proven a dead failure. Perhaps he was an explorer, and had hoped to investigate the secrets of those gaunt mountains which had never been climbed, and which might be rich in precious ores!
Frank bathed the injured limb as soon as he could get some warm water. There was really nothing else he could do, not being a surgeon. Of course many cowboys can perform rude operations, when stern necessity requires; and Frank had before now, set a broken bone fairly well. But in this case it was a compound fracture, and splinters of bone would have to be taken away before the process of healing could begin.
Bob, meanwhile, managed to get supper ready. He announced the meal even as Frank finished his labors in connection with the wounded aeronaut.
“Perhaps you might be able to eat a little; or at least have a cup of coffee,” Frank remarked, after he had propped the other up against a tree.
Somehow the man looked a little more cheerful. His leg did not hurt so badly, for the numb stage had set in; and so long as he could remain quiet it would not be so bad.
“This is mighty nice of you two boys,” he declared, showing that he felt he owed them more than common gratitude. “Yes, I haven’t eaten a bite for many hours, and that coffee certainly smells good. I will try a little. I’m beginning to pick up hopes that after all I may be able to pull through.”
So Bob poured out a cup of the fragrant Java, and brought it over to where the wounded aeronaut lay.
“How will you have it, Professor?” he asked, “with condensed milk, or plain black?”
“A little of the milk, please, my boy; and as I was just saying to your comrade, I owe you both a heavy debt. After all, a man’s life is worth more than anything else. But don’t call me Professor, for I’m not anything of the sort. Jared Scott is the name I answer to; and I’m from Iowa, though long out in the wild and woolly West. May I ask your name, and that of the fine fellow who made me so comfortable?”