But there was no answer and his heart almost stopped beating as he joined Lucky beneath the branches of the tree.
"You—you don't—" he began, but the Indian interrupted.
"Heem must be up thar."
"Take my rifle and I'll have a look," Jack said as he handed over the gun and swung himself up.
"He's here," he called a minute later. "But—but I can't seem to wake him."
The Indian was beside him almost before he had finished speaking.
"Heem no dead," he declared after he had laid his ear over his heart. "We geet heem down an' back to camp queek."
It was hard work getting the heavy body down out of the tree, but they did it quickly knowing that a moment more or less might well mean his life. The ground seem literally covered with the bodies of the wolves, but they took no heed of them as they quickly fastened on their snow-shoes and started back, the Indian carrying Bob over his shoulder. Fortunately Jack's shoes had not been damaged in the fight and he went ahead carrying their rifles. Not once did the Indian stop and he refused to allow Jack to carry him or to help, asserting that they could make better time that way. Jack was amazed at the Indian's strength and the speed which he was able to maintain with such a heavy load.
Arrived back the Indian laid the still form on a blanket over the bed of boughs and started rubbing his limbs while Jack hurried to get out their medicine case. For fully fifteen minutes they worked before the first sign of returning life rewarded them. Over and over Jack moaned that he was dead, but the Indian insisted that it was not so and they kept on. Then Jack noticed a slight twitching of one eyelid and fell to work with renewed hope.
"Heem heart geet stronger," Lucky assured him.