"See here, mother; you fix up daddy's leg the best you know how, and I'll look around for something that'll fill the pot. There are rabbits here in plenty, though it's mighty hard luck when you have to waste a cartridge on each one. I'll have enough in the way of meat by the time you've washed the wound. I've heard the poor old man himself say that plenty of cool water was needed on a bullet-hole."
Mrs. Stevens could not be hopeful under the circumstances, for she knew better than did Dick how slight was the chance that the injured man could live where it was impossible to care properly for the wound; but she would not deprive the boy of hope, and turned to do as he suggested.
Although weary and footsore, Dick did not spend many moments in camp.
He waited only long enough to get his rifle and ammunition, and then trudged off; for meat must be had, even at the expense of cartridges, both for the wounded man and the remainder of the family.
An hour later Dick returned with two rabbits; and when these had been made ready for cooking, he clambered into the wagon to see his father.
The invalid looked more comfortable, even though nothing had been done for his relief save to cleanse the wound, and dress it in such fashion as was possible; but he was still in the delirium, and after kissing the pale forehead, Dick went to where his mother was making ready for the long-delayed meal.
"I don't reckon there's a bit of anything to eat, mother?"
"I shall soon have these rabbits cooked."
"But I must be off after larger game, and don't want to wait till dinner is ready."
"You need the food, Dickey, and there is only a tiny bit of bread."