Gerald and Arthur ran forward and bent over him.
“Are you much hurt, Jack?” they asked.
“I’m afraid so; look out; don’t try to lift me.”
With a gasp of pitying fright, both boys saw that Jack’s right limb below the knee was bent midway at a sharp angle. There could be no mistaking what that meant.
“Your leg is broken!” exclaimed Gerald.
“Thank God it isn’t my neck!” replied the brave sufferer.
That was sound Christian philosophy. How true it is that there are few afflictions in this life that couldn’t be worse.
Jack with help rose on one elbow and looked at his leg. Its appearance showed that both the tibia and the fibula had been snapped apart, for the foot lay limp at an angle from the upper portion that it never could have assumed if sound.
Arthur dropped down by him in a twinkling and took off the legging. The skin had not been broken, but the sight of the jagged points pressing against it caused a momentary faintness on the part of the two, from which they quickly rallied.
“Don’t be scared, boys,” said Jack; “it hurts like all creation and I don’t think I shall climb many more trees for a few weeks to come.”