“Is it the venison?” I said in a whisper to the doctor.
“No. He is a little faint, now the reaction has set in,” replied the doctor; and we had to carry poor wet Jack Penny as well as the fish into camp, and of course we got no farther on our journey that day.
Chapter Fourteen.
How a strange Visitor came to Camp.
Jack seemed very little the worse after a good night’s rest, that is to say bodily. He was a little white, and his breakfast did not disappear so rapidly as usual, for, probably on account of his great length, and the enormous amount of circulation and support to keep up, Jack Penny used to eat about as much as two ordinary boys. He was, however evidently a little bit upset in his mind, and he laid this open to me just before starting once more.
“I say,” he said in a low tone, “did I seem such a very great coward yes’day, Joe Carstairs?”
“Coward! No,” I said; “not you. Any one would have been frightened.”
“But I hollered so,” whispered Jack. “I don’t think a young fellow ought to holler like a great girl.”