“He butted in!” answered Terry shortly. “He wanted to take my provisions and my drink by force. He was too fresh, and I knocked him down. I guess he isn’t hurt much.”
“How’d he get here?” asked Ben.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care!” was the sullen reply. “I might ask the same about you. What do you want here, anyway?”
“Dick Sherman sent me!” was the reply.
“All right,” answered the other. “I know Dick Sherman. He’s good people! Why didn’t he come himself?”
“He’ll be here to-morrow,” replied Ben, drawing slightly on his imagination. “He’ll tell you all about it then.”
Ben was angry at the impertinent manner of the fellow, but he understood that he was there to placate him if possible, so he refrained from further conversation at that time. Turning to the man lying by the fire, he lifted him in his arms and carried him to a more comfortable position.
“If you’ll fetch me some whiskey,” he said, “I’ll bring this man back to life. I guess the fellow needs something to eat more than anything else!”
Grumbling that he had no liquor to give away, Terry reluctantly produced a flask from his pocket, and Ben applied the same to the mouth of the unconscious man. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up as the fiery liquid scorched his throat.
“I say, don’t do that, you know!” he gasped.