“All right but my left ankle,” he announced. “I reckon that got a bad twist. Beats the Dutch, doesn’t it?” he added, with another attempt at a smile.
“It’s too bad,” returned Andy.
“No, you don’t understand. I mean my coming to Maine to do a little quiet hunting, and then to get knocked out like this. Why, I’ve hunted all over this globe,—the West, India, Africa, and even in the Arctic regions—and hardly got a scratch. I didn’t think anything could happen to me on a quiet little trip like this.”
[CHAPTER VI—A WORLD-WIDE HUNTER]
The two boys listened to the man’s words with keen interest. He had hunted in the wild West, in India, Africa, and even in the Arctic regions! Surely he was a sportsman out of the ordinary.
“You’re like old Tom Casey,” said Andy. “He fought the forest fires here for years, and never got singed, and then went home one day and burnt his arm on a red-hot stove. I hope the ankle isn’t bad.”
“I can’t tell about that until I stand on it. Give me a lift, will you?”
Both boys helped the man to his feet. He took a couple of steps, and was then glad enough to return to the pine couch.
“It’s no use—I can’t walk, yet,” he murmured.
“Do you think you need a doctor?” asked Chet.