“Look!” Phyllis cried.
A man in the uniform of a flyer leaned weakly against a tree and endeavored to grin at them. There was mud and grime on his clothes and from a cut on his cheek blood was flowing. Bruce and David caught him as he almost fell to the ground.
“Take him to the cabin,” Peter proposed.
The other boys nodded in agreement and the girls ran on ahead. Pillows and blankets were whisked into position for a makeshift bed. A small fire was started in the stone fireplace and water put on to heat.
David, who was studying to be a doctor, put his knowledge to good use by examining the pilot.
“Is he badly hurt?” Gale asked when her friend straightened up.
David shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
The pilot opened his eyes again and looked wordlessly from one to the other, letting his gaze rest finally and longest on Gale. Slowly he sat up and negotiated it successfully, but when he tried to stand his leg gave way beneath him.
“Take it easy,” Peter encouraged.
“Sprained ankle,” was the answer.