“It was, to that old codger, who won’t get over his lesson for a month. Well, as the gun wasn’t of any use to me I threw it away and started to find my friends and the boat we came on. By and by my leg began to hurt, I suppose from walking so much and a tumble I got by catching my foot in the root of a tree. I sat down to rest awhile and when I got up it hurt so badly that I thought it was all up with me. You know it was night, and somehow I had gone astray in the infernal pine woods. The wound was bleeding, and I sat down again intending to wait till morning. By and by I heard a dog bark so near that I climbed to my feet again and made by way to this house. McCaffry and his wife were asleep and it took a good deal of banging and shouting for me to wake them. But when they found out what was the matter they took me in, and my own father and mother could not have been kinder.”
“What did they do fur yer fut?”
“The good woman not only washed the wound, but, by the light of the lamp which her husband held, picked out every one of the shot that had been buried there and were making the trouble. Then she bathed the hurt again and wrapped it about with the clean linen, as you see for yourself. All that remains is for me to keep quiet for a few days and nature will do the rest.”
“Wouldn’t it be well if I got a docther fur ye?”
Noxon looked up in the face of the Irish youth, who tried to keep a grave countenance.
“I think not,” replied the sufferer.
There was a world of significance in the words, and both understood.
Strange that these two who had never met before except as the bitterest of enemies should talk now as comrades. Mike kept pinching his clothing and turning every side to the blaze, thus drying the garments quite rapidly. He was so interested in the story of Noxon that he grew careless.
“I think I see smoke coming from behind you,” finally said the sitter.
Mike reached back to investigate and with a gasp snatched back his fingers.