“Why, what would anybody do if he had cut his finger?” cried Dick manfully, as he undid his neckcloth and doubled it afresh.
“I don’t know,” cried Tom, who was sadly scared.
“You don’t know! Suppose you had cut your finger, wouldn’t you tie it up?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” faltered Tom, whom the situation had completely unnerved.
“Take off his neckerchief while I tie this on,” said Dick, whom the emergency had rendered more helpful. “How can he have hurt himself like this?”
As he spoke he busied himself in tightly bandaging the man’s leg, and added to the bandage the cotton cloth that Tom handed to him.
“I think that has stopped it,” said Dick. “Now then, we must carry him down.”
“But we shall sink into the bog with him,” faltered Tom.
“No, we sha’n’t if we are careful. Now, then, are you ready?”
“I don’t like to try and lift him now,” said Tom. “It’s so horrible. The man’s bleeding to death.”