"He doesn't want to waste what strength he has in shouting, Sandy; but three to one we'll find him waiting for us to come along. How far are we away now?"
"Oh! it's just over there at t'other side of that rise!" gasped the boy.
They pushed quickly on, increasing their pace if anything, such was the anxiety they were now beginning to share with poor Sandy Moogs, the woodchopper's son.
"I see him!" cried sharp-sighted Jerry.
"There, he waved his hand at us, Sandy, so you see he's all right!" added Frank, only too glad of the opportunity to relieve the pent-up feelings of the dutiful son of the injured man.
In another minute they had reached his side. Frank and Will began immediately to busy themselves with attending to his injury. Bluff and Jerry, taking the hatchet, started to hunt for the proper kind of poles with which a litter could be framed.
Frank instantly saw that the man had suffered a serious injury. Not only was the leg broken but the flesh had been badly lacerated, and he had lost a large amount of blood.
It turned out just as Frank had said, for the woodchopper, after Sandy had run away to seek aid, had bethought himself of a way to stop some of the bleeding. His method of procedure was crude, but it had been on the well-known tourniquet principle of applying a bandage with the knot resting as nearly as possible on the artery above the wound, and then by twisting a stout stick around and around increasing the pressure as far as could be borne.
When Frank saw what he had done he told the man his action had likely enough been the means of saving his life, for in the two hours that had elapsed since the boy left him he might have bled to death.
Will of course was quite in his element now. If there was one thing in which he excelled besides taking pictures it lay along the lines of medicine and practical surgery.