“We must get back to the post as soon as we can,” said Barringford, after the excitement was over. “Remember, we don’t know how matters are a-goin’ there.”
“I have heard no shots,” answered Henry. “And that is a good sign.”
“I do not see how anything can be wrong there,” said Dave. “We have wound up the Bevoir crowd and you can trust White Buffalo to take care of Moon Eye’s tribe.”
Nevertheless, the start for the trading post was made as soon as matters could be gotten into shape for the journey. The two sick men were carried on stretchers made of blankets tied to long poles, and all took turns at the task. Dave did not mind the load at all, and in the joy at finding his parent forgot all about his own injuries, which, fortunately, proved slight.
The strange man who was sick wanted to know what it all meant, and smiled when told. Then he heaved a sudden sigh.
“I, too, have had many troubles,” he said. “Many, many troubles. I wish that I could get some help.”
“We will aid you all we can,” said Henry, kindly.
“Yes, yes, I know. But my head—it is not clear. My brain whirls when I try to think. The past is such a blank!”
“You were hit on the head, that’s the trouble,” went on the youth. “But I think you will get over it soon.”
“Perhaps—some days I know I feel better. But then my head whirls again and I am in the dark! Oh, it is awful!” And the sick man sighed as before.