“You don’t know where you’re going, but you’re on your way!” chanted Alex. “Well,” he continued, “you’re going down the Columbia river, according to schedule, and that is enough to know. That’s all any of us know. We came around by Canoe river, and you came across the mountains, and we beat you to it.”
“Yes, I came across the mountains,” Gran said, weakly, “and got a tumble, and had a fright of a time getting down to the river valley. I saw your lights and that’s about all.”
Not a word about why he had left the Rambler, or where he had put in his time since then, or how the rowboat had been obtained and, later, wrecked! Not a word about the man in whose company he had last been seen! Not a word about the missing films! Not a word calculated to clear up any part of the mystery!
“You did a good job setting that leg,” Clay said, to break the awkward silence. “You must have had a bad time doing it, too.”
“I did,” Gran confessed. “I had a wretched time. I tied my foot to a tree, after I had the splints bound lightly on, and dropped down a bank. I heard the bones snap back into place, and knew that the splints were holding them there, and went to sleep!
“It was a long time before I sensed any pain again. Then I got back to a level spot and tightened the splints. Are they still on?”
“Still on, and right as a book!” exclaimed Alex. “You’re a brick!”
“That was after you got to the valley?” asked Clay. “How far had you walked with that broken leg before you found splints and mended it?”
“Oh, I don’t know!” was the reply. “It seemed that I was out days and days, and a bear came and sat by me, and Captain Joe drove him off, and then I woke up in the cabin of the good old Rambler!”
The boys exchanged significant glances. Was it true that the dog had driven off a grizzly, or was the boy telling what he saw after his brain had become affected by suffering? They asked no questions, for the boy’s eyes were closing, and they knew that he needed rest more than they needed information. In a minute the lad was resting easily.