"Swing those dogs in here!" he cried, pointing to Waseche's team that remained still harnessed. "A little farther! Woah! That'll do—now, wait!" Swiftly he stooped, and with a few quick turns, bound the injured foot tightly to the back of the sled.
"Now, pull up—easy, at first—don't jerk! That's right!" he cried, as the leg stretched taut, "now, make 'em pull!"
Again the boy dropped to his knees and worked rapidly with his fingers, while under O'Brien's urging Waseche's malamutes humped and clawed as they pulled. There was a slight click, as the bone-ends snapped into place, and the Irishman heard the delighted voice of the boy:
"Woah! She's set! She's set! Ease off, now, and hand me the splints!"
The splints, rudely split from pieces of firewood, were applied and held in place by strips torn from the tarp, a blanket was wrapped about the injured member, and the patient made as comfortable as possible beside the fire in the lee of the shelter tarp. But it was an hour later before Waseche Bill opened his eyes and gazed inquiringly about him.
"What happened?" he asked, as a sharp pain caused him to stare in surprise toward his blanket-swathed leg.
"Sur-re, ye walked over th' edge av a clift, an' lit on th' rocks, a mather av siventy feet below—an' th' b'y, here, wuz over an' afther yez befoor ye lit. Yer leg's bruk squar-re in two, but th' lad set ut loike an-ny docther c'd done—an' bether thin most."
"O'Brien helped!" interrupted Connie.
"Aye, a bit. An' so did the dogs. But, th' b'y—he wuz th' captain. Ye sh'd o' seed um shlip over th' edge on th' ind av his thread av a loine, into th' whirlin' scather av shnow, when ye c'd see nayther bottom nor soides. 'Oi'm a-goin afther Waseche!' he says—An' he done so."
"O'Brien pulled you up," said the boy, as Waseche leaned over and grasped the small hand in his own big one. He spoke no word, but in the pressure of the mighty hand-grasp the boy read the man-sign of tillicums.