CHAPTER XIX.—LUPO’S END.
When next Frank opened his eyes, he lay on a blanket in camp and the sight of Bob and Jack bending anxiously above him while Mr. Hampton and Farnum worked at his shoulder greeted him.
“Hello,” he said, trying to grin, but wincing as a sharp stab of pain passed through his shoulder.
“Don’t move, Frank, We’ll have you fixed up right in a minute,” said Mr. Hampton soothingly.
“Is it bad, Dad,” Jack anxiously inquired.
“Just grazed the bone,” said Mr. Hampton, putting the finishing touches to the bandage, and straightening up. “There, Frank, now you’ll be all right.”
“What happened to me?” asked Frank, struggling to a sitting position, and finding his right arm bound across his chest.
“Bullet through your shoulder brought you down,” said Mr. Hampton. “And your head struck a rock hidden in the grass, so you were knocked out.”
“Good enough,” said Frank, “but who shot me? I was dashing along, yelling to attract your attention, and never knew what hit me.”
“I guess you didn’t,” said Jack. “If it hadn’t been for Art, you might have been finished. But he shot down the fellow that winged you.”