"Got what?" asked Jim.
"I believe I'm on the track of the right stuff to give poor old Harry."
"What's the name of the stuff you're going to give harry"
"There are three medicines mentioned here," replied Reade, holding up the book. "They're all to be given."
"Three medicines!" gasped Jim. "By the great Custer three are enough to kill a horse!"
"I'm going to try 'em," sighed Tom stolidly. "The poor fellow will die if nothing is done for him."
"Wouldn't it be better," suggested Ferrers, hopelessly, "to try one medicine on the lad and then wait ten minutes. Then, if that doesn't work, try one of the others on him! If that doesn't work then you know that the third kind of stuff is the right sort of bracer."
Despite his great anxiety, Reade could not suppress the smile that Jim's advice brought out. It was plain that Ferrers, good fellow as he was, would be of no use on the medical end of the fight that must be waged.
Tom searched the chest and found the medicines. Then he looked up the doses and started to administer the remedies as directed.
Even over the steadily increasing gale the notes of the supper horn reached them faintly.