He gave a comprehensive nod all round and was passing through the door, but turned sharply round.
“Here, I’ll just take a peep at the poor fellow as I go, doctor, by your leave—Go on tip-toe, you know. P’r’aps you’d like to go with me.”
“Yes, I want to see him again,” replied the doctor, and they went to the temporary hospital together, and found the stranger sleeping heavily.
“Man must have gone through a deal to get to look like that, doctor,” whispered the American, as they stole away.
“A great deal more than we know, or ever shall know, friend Griggs,” replied Chris’s father.
“Oh, I dunno so much about that, mister. You once get him well, and he’ll spin us a yarn, I expect, such as’ll make our hair stand on end.”
“But how to get him well?” said the doctor, smiling sadly.
“Oh, you go on; you’ll do it. See how you mended that black fellow the horse kicked to pieces. It was wonderful; made me wish I’d been a doctor myself. But there, I must be off back.”
He turned away, and after another glance at his sleeping patient, who quite fascinated him by his strangely weird aspect, the doctor returned to the shanty, where he and his companions began at once to discuss the bearings of the strange incident, talking over the possibility of the man having been lost, perhaps for years, in one of the great deserts towards the south, and having at last found his way back to civilisation, while the two boys sat silently drinking in every word, associating their weird visitor with wild and stirring adventures in the unknown land.
“I say, Ned,” said Chris that night when they went to their rough beds, “shouldn’t you like to go right off and see what the wild part of the country’s like?”