"Something's the matter," muttered the old man, as he quickened his pace, and Toby, alarmed by the look on his friend's face, hurried on, hardly daring to breathe.
One look into the wagon around which the men were gathered was sufficient to show why it was that Abner had not remained by the tent as he had promised; for he lay in the bottom of the cart, to all appearances dead, while two of the party were examining him to learn the extent of his injuries.
"What is the matter? How did this boy get hurt?" asked Ben, sternly, as he leaped upon the wagon, and laid his hand over the injured boy's heart.
"He was standing there close by the guy ropes when we were getting ready to let the canvas down. One of the side poles fell and struck him on the head, or shoulder, I don't know which," replied a man.
"It struck him here on the back of the neck," said one of those who were examining the boy, as he turned him half over to expose an ugly-looking wound around which the blood was rapidly settling. "It's a wonder it didn't kill him."
"He hain't dead, is he?" asked Toby, piteously, as he climbed up on one of the wheels and looked over in a frightened way at the little deformed body that lay so still and lifeless.
"No, he hain't dead," said Ben, who had detected a faint pulsation of the heart; "but why didn't some of you send for a doctor when it first happened?"
"We did," replied one of the men. "Some of the village boys were here, and we started them right off."
Almost as the man spoke, Dr. Abbott, one of the physicians of the town, drove up and made his way through the crowd.
Toby, too much alarmed to speak, watched the doctor's every movement as he made an examination of the wounded boy, and listened to the accounts the men gave of the way in which the accident had happened.