"I know it must hurt you, Mr. Stevenson," said Jack kindly. "We'll be just as careful as possible."
"I know you'll be, my lads. I suppose I ought to have a doctor, but if I can get to Bill Hobson's cabin, I guess I'll be all right. Bill will most likely have some liniment, and that will fix me up."
With the old lumberman resting on the litter and the four youths carrying this as carefully as possible, the party made its way along the Rick Rack River, which at this point was little better than a mountain torrent. They had considerable difficulty in climbing over the rocks and in making their way through the heavy brushwood, but finally they came out to a cleared space, beyond which there were only scattered patches of trees.
"I see some smoke!" cried Fred presently.
"That must be the smoke from Bill Hobson's place," announced the old lumberman, and then he closed his eyes once more and lay back on the litter, for the pain he was suffering was great.
Keeping on in the direction where they had seen the smoke, they soon came in sight of a fairly large cabin with a lean-to attached. They marched up to the place, and Jack rapped upon the door, which was opened a moment later by a burly man, well along in years.
"What do you want?" began the man, and then looked past Jack to the litter and the old lumberman lying on it. "What's this? Why, it's Uncle Barney, I declare! What's happened?"
"I got hurt by a falling tree, Bill," was the reply. "And if it hadn't been for these cadets, I might be layin' down in the woods yet."
"He is quite a bit hurt," explained Jack. "You had better let us carry him in and place him on a couch or a bed of some kind."
"Surest thing you know, young man," answered Bill Hobson. "Fetch him right in," and he turned to make a bunk ready for the sufferer.