“Too bad we didn’t find that out before.”
“It’s a good thing for that Indian that we didn’t.”
“I think I’d have shot him,” Sandy bristled, “although shooting’s too good for him. He ought to be flayed alive, tortured, the way they used to do.”
Fires were quickly re-kindled, and a lunch prepared. It was nearly two o’clock before everyone finally retired and the camp became hushed in sleep.
On the following morning the sun had already risen, when Toma, the first to awake, crawled wearily from his blankets into the bitter air of forty below and proceeded to arouse his comrades. Immediately there began again the monotonous routine of building fires and preparing breakfast, assembling the dogs, and making ready for the day’s journey. But on this occasion, there was in evidence much more spirit and enthusiasm than at any time during the preceding two weeks. Dick was reminded of the day they had left the Mackenzie. Now and again one might hear the cheery whistle or laugh of one of the drivers. During breakfast, conversation flourished, and, after the meal, there took place a keen rivalry as to who would be the first to harness his team and take his place at the head of the column.
By mutual arrangement, it fell to the lot of Sandy to drive the team which conveyed Corporal Rand. Dr. Brady had completed his examination earlier in the morning.
“It is a pitiable case,” he told the boys. “Rand’s condition was caused by hardships, privations, hunger and exposure. He has a wonderful constitution, or he would never have been able to endure the half of it. I don’t wonder that his mind has become unhinged. Yet, I haven’t the least doubt but he’ll recover his memory and his reasoning powers as his health improves.”
“So you really think he’ll get better?”
“Yes. I don’t believe there is any question about that. But he’ll never be able to take his place again in the ranks of the mounted.”
A deep silence followed this statement. Both Dick’s and Sandy’s face fell.