“No!”
The Scouts crossed the driveway and shoved open the cabin door. Jack found the light switch. As the room became illuminated, he and Ken both stiffened in horror.
Old Stony, his bed unmade, was sprawling on the floor, bleeding from a forehead wound. The aged man was moaning piteously. For just an instant Ken and Jack thought he had suffered a stroke and fallen. But the evidence convinced them otherwise. Even if they had not seen the fleeing intruder, the condition of the cabin would have told its graphic story. Drawers had been overturned. Old Stony’s few pathetic possessions were scattered on the bare floor.
“Robbery,” was Jack’s only comment.
Without attempting to lift the old man from the floor, they quickly examined his wound. It did not seem deep. However, the old man was certainly in a state of shock.
“Get Hap and our first-aid kit,” Jack directed Ken. “Better call a doctor, too. Stony’s an old fellow, and he has a heart condition.”
Ken hurried away. Left alone, Jack covered Stony with a blanket and pillowed his head. He was turning away to look for something he could use for a temporary bandage, when the old man’s lips began to move.
Jack bent closer. “Who was it that hit you?” he asked.
“Don’t know,” the old fellow mumbled. “Woke up—the skunk was pawing through my things. I yelled at him, and then he hit me on the skull. Last I knew for a while.”
“You didn’t see his face?”