When the stretcher changed hands, we carefully examined Nucky for any change in pulse or temperature. There was none.
Nearly six hours the march lasted,—the way was rough, the snow and ice made the footing uncertain, the evening hours before the moon rose were dark. At last we made the last turn, and came in sight of the school and the village beyond. Rich Tarrant then laid a hand on Blant's arm.
"Right here is where you take a back track, Blant," he said, firmly; "it haint sensible for you to walk right spang into the teeth of the sheriff and the jail,—you can't afford to lose no time that way, your family not being able to do without you."
"That's so," said Blant, "I plumb forgot. Seems like I can't stand to leave the little chap, though."
"You got it to do. He'll be took good care of. You follow the ridges back."
Blant laid a large, tender hand on Nucky's head, and without a word, turned and struck straight up the nearest mountain, Rich watching till he was out of sight.
"That boy certainly sees more than his fill of trouble," he sighed; "I wisht I could help him more,—I would glad lay down my life for him."
"You proved that last winter," I said, remembering the bullet he took in his breast.
"Oh, that wa'n't nothing at all," he deprecated.
Sure enough, when we reached the hospital, there in the crowd of people who had heard of our coming and gathered to meet us, was the sheriff.