Sam was down out of his hammock instantly.
“Where are you hurt?”
“My wrist. I think I have broken it. I must have twisted it under me when I fell.”
“Then go to the surgeon at once.”
“No; not until morning.”
The wrist hung limp and Dan seemed unable to use it at all.
“That’s too bad,” exclaimed Sam, his voice full of concern. “You wait until I fix your hammock; then I will help you up.”
“No, I can’t do it, Sam. I never could get up there,” complained the lad, holding his wrist, which was paining him dreadfully.
Dan dragged himself to where his hammock was hanging by one end, the other end lying on the deck.