Judy ignored the sarcasm, noting how limply the trucker’s right arm hung.
“We can help,” she insisted. “Your collar bone has been broken, I think.”
“So what?” the trucker demanded belligerently. “I’m worried about this truck. We can never move it out of this—have to abandon it.”
“You should be able to get a wrecker from the village. Now about that collar bone—”
“Forget it, I said.” The man’s gaze roved toward the cab of the truck where Betty and Beverly were covering the driver with coats.
“Is Joe done for?” he demanded with cold rather than friendly concern.
“He’s more stunned than hurt, I think,” Judy replied.
“Can’t he make it on his own pins? We gotta get out o’ here.”
“He shouldn’t try to walk. We’ll bring help to you as fast as we can. First, though, you must take a sensible attitude and let us wrap that collar bone. You’ll be far more comfortable until we can get you a doctor.”
“Okay,” the trucker suddenly consented. “Make it snappy though, and don’t hurt me or I’ll bash you in! I ain’t in no mood to be worked over by amateurs.”