"He's not badly hurt," Carlito was saying as they drew up to where the Indian and Tender Gray were bending over Herb, bandaging his arm while the father held the boy's hand.
"I'll be all right," faintly assured Herb. "Don't you—" but his voice trailed off into silence, and the upraised arm grew limp.
"Here, I brought some ammonia," exclaimed Fred, springing forward, and placing a small bottle to Herb's nostrils, while Gray and Carl rubbed his arms and legs vigorously.
"I wish we had a stretcher," exclaimed Mr. Phipps, his voice shaking with anxiety.
"Dunk and Fly are coming along with one," responded the captain.
"Thank heaven for that," exclaimed the rancher gratefully. "Carl snatched some branches off of the trees coming along," he continued "and made some splints on the run." He laid his hand affectionately on the Indian's bent shoulders.
A few moments later Dunk and Fly came up, bearing a stretcher between them. Riding had been rather difficult with this clumsy load.
It was not long before Herb was comfortably stretched out on the improvised bed, and, resuscitated by the liberal whiffs of ammonia which Fred faithfully applied, and the constant massage, he soon opened his eyes and smiled, as a sign that he had regained consciousness.
"It's mostly jolt," said Dunk, who began applying more bandages. When the arm was well bound up, he went over Herb's body carefully in search of more injuries.
Finding none, Mr. Phipps suggested that they start for the ranch.