Of course it was up to Bluff and Jerry to explain.
“Before we try to give you the whole yarn, Frank,” said the former, “I want you to take a look at his feet. He got both of them badly frozen while sitting up in a tree most of last night with a pack of wolves jumping at him.”
“What’s that—wolves?” demanded Will, getting interested.
“Like this one that tried to break in through the back of our bough shelter, and that I nailed with a single shot.” And, saying this, Jerry spread out the skin before their admiring eyes.
“Well, I should say you fellows have been busy,” Frank remarked, smiling with pleasure; “but keep the story until I can be with you, please.”
With that he went over to where Bill Nackerson had dropped to the ground, and offered to assist the man into the cabin.
“One of my chums tells me you’ve been unlucky with your feet, and got them frosted a bit,” Frank said, in his pleasant way.
“Yes, that’s so, and I reckon I’m in a bad way,” Bill replied, with lines across his forehead. “They were mighty kind to me, and I’m sure ashamed of the way I’ve carried on while up here. It’s a lesson to me, I tell you.”
“Well, let me help you inside,” said Frank. “I’m something of an amateur doctor, and as I was born and raised here in Maine I know something about frostbites and what to do for them. It may be I can help you temporarily; though if it’s a bad case we must see Mr. Darrel, and have him get you down to a hospital.”
Frank saw the man cringe at mention of the lumberman’s name, and he knew the reason why.