Ike got out his automatic and paroled the deck back and forth with a delicious sense of his responsibility as defender of the Rambler and her sick crew of one. Occasionally he relaxed his vigilance long enough to dart down into the cabin to see if the meal was keeping warm and also to take a look at Alex, who was snoring peacefully in his bunk. As the minutes went on, however, his anxiety over his comrades, more than overcame the novelty of his position. Not a sound came from the cottonwood thicket. The only noise that came to his ears was the soft murmur of the flowing river as it lapped the stones of the shore. At the end of the half hour, he brought out the rifle and fired the four quick shots. He was delighted to hear in return the sharp crack of Clay’s automatic. It sounded not far away, but it was long before a rustling arose from the cottonwood trees and Clay emerged into the dim twilight bearing a limp body in his arms. “Come on and give me some help here,” he cried, as soon as he spied the boat, but Ike was already hastening to his assistance. “Is he dead?” inquired Ike in an awed whisper as he gathered up the dangling legs.
“I don’t know,” said Clay, wearily. “It is dark in the cottonwoods so I could not see, but his heart was beating all right when I found him. I stumbled over him by accident or else I would not have found him until morning. I found him lying all in a heap at the foot of a big cottonwood. I don’t know what happened to him. Let’s get him down into the cabin where we can see what’s the matter with him.”
Between them they managed to get him on deck and down into the cabin’s bright light.
“I’ll hold him while you get a blanket and spread it out on the floor,” Clay said. “He’s dripping with blood so it would ruin his bunk to put him in it. Now put some water on to heat and then come back and help me get his clothes off. I guess we will have to cut them off him.”
Together the two worked away at Case’s clothing, removing it bit by bit, being careful not to cut into skin or flesh. Each piece they removed was stained with blood. When the last piece had been cut away Clay arose and got the now hot water. “Get the medicine chest, Ike, while I wash off some of this blood,” he directed.
When the dried blood was washed away, the boys stood appalled at the sight that met their eyes. From head to feet Case’s body was a mass of cuts and bruises. Clay looked puzzled. “His heart action is good, and all his wounds, though there are a multitude of them, are not deep. If he has not been injured internally, I believe he will pull through. I think that lump on the head there is what has made him unconscious. Well, let’s get to work and fix him up as best we can.”
For a full hour the two boys labored over their wounded companion. First cleansing the wounds with warm water made antiseptic by the addition of a little carbolic acid, they applied a healing salve, and bound clean bandages to the parts until the unfortunate lad’s body looked like a checker-board. Along towards the last, Case began to show signs of returning consciousness and as they lifted him into his bunk he opened his eyes.
“I knew you fellows would come and find me,” he murmured weakly. “That, I guess, was the last thing I thought of before I hit that cottonwood tree.”
“Who hurt you?” inquired Clay eagerly.
Case tried to grin but groaned at the effort.