“It’s a patient for you, Lee,” said Wilton.
“Hillo, you!” cried the newcomer, in a lusty voice, but in rather a nasal sing-song tone. “Doctor there?”
“Yes; come in,” was the reply, and a tall, sun-dried, keen-looking man in grey flannels, the legs of which were tucked into his boots, dropped the butt of his rifle on the earthen floor with a dull thud, as he slouched into the room, to show the assembled party that the joke about a patient for the doctor was a good guess, and that many a true word really is spoken in jest.
Chapter Three.
The Man from the Wilderness.
“Howdy, all on you? Two boys included. D’yer hear, nippers? I was a bit scared about ketching you, doctor. You’re wanted yonder.”
“An accident?” cried the doctor quickly.
“Accident?” said the newcomer. “Wal, yes, that’ll do. You might call him an accident, poor beggar, for he’s about played down to the lowest level. Some’d call him a loafer, but we’ll say accident—fatal accident, for I’m thinking he’s too far gone for you, friend Lee, clever doctor as you are.”