"It isn't that which worries him the most. It's his money and his conscience," declared the young man, as he eyed Pooler meditatively.
"Then come; we'll lock hands and make an armchair for him to ride in."
Not without considerable difficulty they raised the man between them. He now uttered no sound, and his weight was that of a dead body.
Meg led the way, carrying the lantern which she had taken from the cave. Deb brought up the rear, her overskirt weighted down by as many of the bags of the coin as she could carry, which Jack advised should be taken along.
It was a long and tedious walk, for the greater part in the dark. They rested twice, and both Mont and Jack gave a sigh of relief when they deposited their burden upon a temporary bed in the front room of the cottage.
"There, now you'll have to get along the best you can," said the young machinist. "I suppose Mr. Farrell is wondering what keeps me so long. Good night all;" and off he went toward the shore.
Meg brought some extra blankets from the other beds, and Mont prepared a resting place for the unconscious man, placing the wounded shoulder in as comfortable a position as possible.
"You had both better try to secure a little sleep," he said to the two girls. "I can get along alone. If I need help I will call you."
After some discussion both Deb and Meg retired to what had for many years been the latter's resting place, a small chamber at one end of the garret.
Mont kept a constant eye upon his strange patient, frequently rearranging the pillow, and watching that the bandage did not slip from the shoulder.