“I will,” said Nat faintly.
He stood up, and by a strong effort fought off the feeling of faintness. Then he and Jack reached down and took hold of Budge, lifting him by his head and feet. His gun was strapped over his shoulder.
“There’s what did the mischief,” said Jack, and he nodded toward a spring, about five feet in diameter, near which Budge had been sitting when he had been overcome.
The poor lad’s body was limp, and it was hard to carry him, but Nat and Jack strained and staggered along. As they went on, the effect of the deadly gas became less, and soon they could breathe better.
“Do you—do you think he’s dead?” faltered Nat.
“I hope not,” answered Jack, but his voice was serious. “It depends on how long he has breathed that gas. I heard Tanker Ike say he once saw a grizzly bear killed by it, so it must be pretty powerful.”
“Have we got to carry him back to camp?”
“No, we’ll take him out of the reach of the vapor, and then one of us can run back and get the medicine chest. I’ll try some strong ammonia on him. That may revive him—if he isn’t dead.”
A little later they staggered with the limp body of Budge out on a clear place, where the fumes of the gas could not be noticed.
“I’ll wait here with him until you run to camp,” said Jack, and when Nat, who had recovered from his faintness, had started off, Jack chafed Budge’s hands, and running to the river filled his cap with cold water, which he dashed into the face of the unconscious lad.