Lifting the helpless man in their arms, they bore him swiftly and gently up the slope. Nance was standing holding open the door as they drew near, and when the sufferer had been laid upon Martin's cot she came close and stood by his side. She noted how worn and haggard was the man's face, while his eyes shone with an unnatural light. His hair was white and long, and his beard fell in profusion upon his breast. He was a powerfully-built man, and the cot upon which he was lying was too short for him. He kept tossing his arms wildly about, and made several attempts to rise, but always fell back panting heavily after each exertion.
"I must get there!" he cried. "Don't stop me! The rest will be ahead of me. Fer God's sake, let me go!"
At these words the young man bent over him, and placed his right hand upon his arm.
"Hush, hush, Tom," he commanded. "Everything will be all right. Be quiet and rest a while."
The vacant expression in the old man's eyes suddenly cleared, and he looked eagerly up.
"Is it much farther, pard?" he asked. "Are we almost there?"
The young man turned inquiringly to Martin standing near.
"Can you answer him?" he asked.
"It's not far," Martin replied. "But it's too far for this man in his present condition."
"Is there anything there?" the young man asked. "Is the ground rich?"