Sam Skinner pushed Mr. Mackworth aside and began an examination of the bruise with all the practical skill of an outdoor surgeon. As he ran his hands over the boy’s chest Frank winced and turned paler.
“No bones broken,” reported Sam confidently, as he pressed on Frank’s collar bone and shoulder joint while the boy gritted his teeth.
“Cough!” ordered Sam.
Frank did so, Sam holding his ear to the boy’s chest.
“Spit!” ordered Sam.
Frank laughed and complied as well as he could. Sam nodded his head.
“Only a bruise,” he explained. “Nothin’ hurt inside. A little liniment and he’ll be all right in a day or two.”
“I certainly hope so,” said Mr. Mackworth as he helped Frank to get into his shirt again. “I wouldn’t have you hurt, my boy, for all that’s in the Teton. You certainly saved our shooting outfits and, like as not, our lives as well. We’ve got both to thank you for.”
“There wasn’t anything else to do,” replied Frank. “And say,” he added, “I reckon there ain’t any need to say anything about this is there? I don’t want any hero business.”