"Not yet."
While working Bob had been trying to make up his mind what he ought to do. Lucky was undoubtedly in trouble and he felt that he ought to go to his aid in case he could find him. Then, on the other hand, was his duty to his brother. Would it be safe to leave him in his present condition? Suppose the wolves should come back while he was gone and make an attack on him. He shuddered as he thought what might result in case he was not able to keep them off. Then again, suppose something should happen to him and he be unable to get back. Jack would surely die and again a shudder ran through him. It was a situation which sorely taxed his mind, and he was unable to decide where his duty lay.
He had dragged in his third load and was back at the tree and about to start cutting again when he heard a sound which sent the blood racing through his body. At first he thought it was a wolf and then, as it came again, he knew he had been mistaken.
"That's Lightning, or I'm a Dutchman," he cried as he put his hands up to his mouth and gave a loud yell.
The yell was answered almost at once in the welcome tones of Lucky's voice and for an instant Bob raised his eyes and thanked God. Then, grabbing up his rifle, he hastened back and burst through the fringe of trees just as the dog team swept around the farther end.
"Thank God," he cried and the next minute he was hugging the Indian as though he never intended to let him go.
"Whar Jack?" the Indian asked as soon as he could speak.
"I'm in here," Jack called out.
"He sprained his ankle yesterday," Bob explained.
"Dat bad, but I tank Le Bon Dieu you safe."