“Horsemanship doesn’t count—-speed does,” replied Rutter tersely. “Hold on tightly, and we’ll make as good time as possible. I’m going to start now.”
Away they went, at a hard gallop, Tom doing his best to hold on, but feeling like a jumping-jack.
“It won’t take us more than twenty minutes,” promised Jack Rutter.
CHAPTER VII
WHAT A SQUAW KNEW
All the way to camp Rutter kept the pony at a hard gallop.
“Thurston! Mr. Thurston!” he shouted. “Be quick, please!”
Even as the young man called, Mr. Thurston ran out of his tent.
“You know something about rattlesnake bites, I believe?” Rutter went on hurriedly, as Tom Reade slipped to the ground. “The boy has been bitten by one and we’ll have to work quickly.”
“Don’t bring any liquor, though,” objected Reade, leaning up against a tree. “If liquor is your cure for snakebites I prefer to take my chances with the bite.”
“Get the shoe off and roll up the trousers,” directed the chief engineer, without loss of words. “Fortunately, I believe we have someone here who knows more about treating the bites than I do. Squaw!”