The stranger climbed up on deck and shook himself.
“When I had the honor to associate with the crew of the Rambler before,” the man began, but Buck seized him by the shoulder and ran him into the cabin.
“You look to me,” he declared, “like the man who recently did a job of surgery. ’Cause why? There ain’t been no other people on board the boat, except you and the river pirates and the boys.”
Paul struggled into a sitting posture and almost shouted out his recognition of the stranger.
“Just in time to save a life!” he said. “Clay must have bled to death in another hour!”
Without speaking a word, the surgeon stripped off his coat and set to work on the wounded boy. The men gathered about the lad held their breath while awaiting the surgeon’s verdict.
“A bad wound,” he finally said.
“Is it fatal?” asked Alex in a whisper.
“Not necessarily so,” was the answer. “If I only had a tourniquet,” he added, “the job would be an easy one, but the boy has lost considerable blood, and——”
Alex interrupted the surgeon by shouting that there was such an instrument in the medicine box, and dashing off to fetch it.