“Who’s got a match?” Jim asked. “I haven’t.”
“Neither have I,” Bob added.
“I had some in the roothouse—”
“Feel around in my pockets, Buddy. I guess you’ll find a few in a folder.” The folder was located but there were only two left.
“Here’s the whole stock.” Bob handed it to his step-brother, who promptly whittled a good collection of shavings to make doubly sure he got his fire. When he struck the first one it crackled like a firecracker and was useless. The four watched as the boy cautiously scratched the last one. After several futile attempts it lighted successfully, a piece of shaving caught, flickered an instant then blazed up and lighted other bits. They sighed with relief at the performance.
“What next, Doctor?” Jim grinned.
“See if you can find some kind of pail or pot, to heat some water in. How many snivel dusters have you got? My patient is bleeding.” Two clean handkerchiefs were produced, then leaving the patient and his attendant, Carl and Jim started to forage for a container. After a five minute search they found a pot which was serviceable, then they filled it with snow and took it in to melt.
“Couldn’t you get any water?” Bob demanded.
“No,” Jim answered.
Kramer was partly stripped and the boy found that he had been shot in the shoulder. “Don’t know how bad it is, but I can tie it up for a little while, then we have to find a way to get out. See what you can do.” He went back to his task, and the two assistants watched his capable fingers making a temporary dressing for the wound.