"That's all right, old boy," soothed Fitz. "You let us do the counting. All you need do is get well."
"But we have to put that message through, don't we?" answered the major. "Just because I'm laid up is no reason why the rest of you must be laid up, too. Darn it! Can't you do something?"
He was excited. That was bad.
"I've been thinking," proceeded the major. "The general was hurt, and dropped out, but we others went on. Then little Jed Smith was hurt, and he and Kit Carson dropped out, but we others went on. And now I'm hurt, and I've dropped out, and none of you others will go on. That seems mighty mean. I don't see why you're trying to make me responsible. Everybody'll blame me."
"Of course they won't," I said.
He was wriggling his feet and moving his arms, and he was almost crying.
"Would you get well quick if we leave you and take the message through, Tom?" asked Fitz, suddenly.
The major quit wriggling, and his face shone.
"Would I? I'd beat the record. I'd sleep all I'm told to, and eat soup, and never peep. Will you, Fitz? Sure?"
"To-morrow morning. You lie quiet, and quit fussing, and sleep, and be a model patient in the hospital, and then to-morrow morning early we'll hike."