"I want to take you to a house."
"Oh, I'm all right. But don't leave me, Jim. Whatever you do, don't leave me. I couldn't get along without you. Hit Bob a crack over the head and addled him so he ain't at himself yet. They took him away round here to his uncle's to keep him out of the way, and I drove out there to see him and stopped at distillery and stayed too long. Ever stay too long, Jim?"
"Do the doctors think that Bob will get well?"
"Yes, in a measure; he won't go round White-Capping any more, though. But I'll make that all right. I'll meet that feller Lyman and put up his shutters. Sit down."
"No, there's a house up yonder and I'll take you there. You may be injured in some way. Let's see if you can walk. Lean on me. That's it."
"I can't walk fast, Jim. Believe I am hurt some. I'd a drounded out there if it hadn't been for you, Jim. Ah—h. I don't believe I can go on. I'm sick."
"Here, let me get my arm around you so I can hold you up better. Now you're all right. It's only a little way."
They soon came to the house. The barking of dogs brought a man out to the fence. In a few words Lyman told him what had happened. Sawyer was unable to walk further and they took him into the house and put him upon a bed. An excited woman bathed his face, and a barefoot boy, as fleet as a deer, was sent across the creek for a doctor. Lyman waited until he came. He said that Sawyer was badly bruised, but added that he did not appear to be fatally hurt. While they were talking, Sawyer opened his eyes. "Where's Jim?" he inquired.
"Here," said Lyman, stepping forward.
"Merciful God," the wounded man moaned, and covered his face with his hands. Lyman stepped back, and Sawyer, putting out his hand, with his eyes closed, said to him: "Please don't leave me."