"Yes, sir—everything's all right," King replied; "only we must get you back."
"Everything?" the old man asked, coming suddenly to himself again, speaking in his sharp, direct way. "Who asked about everything? What the hell do I care about everything? I want to know about my girl."
"She's all right, Mr. McBain," King assured him again.
"That's right, eh? Howden, don't lie to me!"
King smiled and put his arm under the old man to raise him to a more comfortable position.
"Where's McCartney?" he asked as soon as King had made him comfortable.
"He's at the camp, sir," King said, and he guessed something of what was passing in Keith McBain's mind.
"Then get me out of here—I've got to get back there. I've been too long away—altogether too long. But something happened—the dirty crooks. Here—get me up."
King and Anne got him to his feet and helped him out to the trail, where he stood for a moment and looked about him.
"What's wrong here?" he asked when he had looked round at the roadway and the woods. "Where's my team? Didn't I leave them here a minute ago? Where are they? Anne, bring the team."