“I certainly will,” answered Joe, and went forward boldly, although with his gun ready for use, in case of possible treachery.
As he got closer to the sufferer he recognized the man as a hunter named Brinker, one who had spent considerable time at Boonesborough the year before. The hunter was indeed in a sad plight, and with him walking was entirely out of the question. All that had passed his lips for three days was a biscuit he had happened to have in his game bag, and some water he had found in a nearby hollow.
“Well, you certainly are in a bad fix,” said Joe kindly. “Wait until I tell some of the others, and then we’ll try and do what we can for you.”
“Please don’t go away too far,” pleaded Brinker.
“I shall not.”
Joe ran forward with all speed, and soon caught up to those who had gone ahead. He reported what he had discovered, and four men went back with him to Brinker’s assistance.
When they reached the sufferer they found he had fainted from exhaustion, and it took tender nursing to bring him around. His wound was washed and bound up, and he was given some liquor.
“I’m downright glad you came,” he said, when he could speak again. “I don’t reckon as how I could have held out another day.”
“How came you there, Brinker?” asked Daniel Boone, who had come up to interview the man.
“It’s a long story, Colonel. I was out hunting deer when I ran into a party of eighteen or twenty redskins. They were encamped in a hollow, and I came on ’em before I knew what was up.”