“Now, don’t try to talk. Take it easy for a minute. There, that better? Gee, you sure must have had a bad time of it! I was comin’ along down the creek to see what was keepin’ you, and heard you yell.”
“I was—trying to get some of those flowers up there, and slipped.”
Above him, through his moist eyelashes, he saw the coveted blossoms swaying slightly in the midday breeze.
“Huh! Well, that’s called rhododendron, and it’s against the law to pick it in this state! If you’re feelin’ better, I’ll help you up to camp, and we’ll dry out your duds.”
Fearing that delay might bring severe consequences, Dirk crawled to his feet, and shivering in his sodden garments, allowed himself to be led up-stream, leaning heavily upon the lad who had pulled him from that deadly bath. At the foot of the path leading to the camping place, he turned and faced his friend.
“Brick,” he said soberly, “you’ve saved my life. I—I can’t put it in words, but if ever there’s anything——”
The red-haired boy grinned and patted his arm. “Forget it!” he muttered gruffly. “You’d have done the same if it had been me.”
“But all the same——”
“Come on, old son, before you freeze to death. Climb, my lad!”
At the summit, the rest of the trailers were lying about on their packs, and there was a brisk smell of wood-smoke and frying bacon in the air. Mr. Carrigan leaped to his feet as he saw the two boys, and without asking for any explanation, had Dirk’s dripping garments stripped off in short order, and after a rough rub-down he was stowed between a pair of warm blankets and told to rest.