The Chinaman, his face as stolid as ever, obeyed. Mr. Chillingworth took from the mahogany box some bandages, and by the time he had done this Mr. Dacre’s eyes were opened again.
“What’s the verdict, Mr. Chillingworth?” he asked pluckily.
“Well, old man,” was the rejoinder, “I don’t know yet if it’s a fracture or just a sprain. I hope it’s the latter, and then we’ll have you on your feet in a few days. The first thing to be done is to get you back on board the sloop. I’ll stay with you while these young men and Fu push on to the ranch and get some remedies of which I will give them a list.”
Mr. Dacre made a wry face.
“Is it as bad as that? I can’t move?” he asked.
“Well, just you try it,” said Mr. Chillingworth,—but one effort was enough for the injured man.
“Well, Chillingworth, you’ve got a lame duck on your hands,” he said.
“Nonsense, we’ll soon have you all right again. Here, boys, you get hold of your uncle’s head. Fu, place a mattress and some blankets on deck there. I’ll get hold of his feet. Don’t move till I say so.”
It was not an easy task to get Mr. Dacre back on board the sloop, but it was accomplished at last without accident. He was then placed on the mattress on deck and lay there stiller than the boys had ever seen his active form.
Mr. Chillingworth dived into the cabin. When he reappeared it was with a penciled list, which he handed to Tom.