By his own efforts Flagg propped himself into a sitting posture, braced by his left arm.
Men leaped off the sleds and crowded forward in a phalanx, cupping with their ranks the sledge where their master was couched. Voices were hushed and eyes were wide.
“I’ve been hit a wallop, boys,” quavered the old man. “Overnight it has hit me. Shock. It ain’t surprising at my age. Mother had the same.”
For that moment Flagg had put aside the shell of his nature; he found instant sympathy in the gaze which rough men of the forest bestowed on a stricken one of their ilk. He was responding to that sympathy. There were tears in his eyes.
“Men, I’m hurrying Mr. Flagg home where he can be looked after by the doctors. I’m sure he’ll soon be all right again,” Latisan assured them, lying for the good of the cause. “In the meantime I’m saying to him for myself that I’m standing by for every ounce that’s in me. What do you say to him?”
“The same!” they yelled, in a ragged chorus.
“Fact is,” went on Ward, as spokesman for all, “to make up for your not being with us, Mr. Flagg, we’ve got to put in twice as many licks because you’re not on the job, and you can depend on us. What, boys?”
They bellowed promises and shrieked a pledge.
“Get along to headwaters and start to rolling the jackstraws onto the ice,” shouted Latisan. “Have the dynamite warmed when I get back there. If we have to do it, well beat the April rains to the job.”
They went on their way, cheering.