Prince barked and backed into the thicket again.
“You stupid dog! Come here!” Sandy yelled. In a frenzy of anger, he dropped down on his hands and knees and charged into the thicket after the dog. He had gone about five feet when he came upon Prince standing over the still form of Quiz Taylor sprawled out on the ground. From the fire line he had been completely hidden by the thick foliage.
Sandy had a moment of overwhelming panic and confusion. Behind him, he heard Jerry calling to him. “Over here, Jerry,” he shouted as he stood up in the waist-deep brush.
Jerry stared at him incredulously from the center of the path. “What are you doing?”
“It’s Quiz,” Sandy said weakly. “He’s unconscious. Give me a hand. We’ve got to carry him out.”
Jerry turned pale. “Good night!” He struggled through the bushes to Sandy’s side and stared bug-eyed at Quiz. “Is he alive? What happened to him?”
“I think he’s alive. But I don’t know what happened to him. If it hadn’t been for Prince—” He didn’t finish the statement, but Jerry knew what he meant.
The boys managed to get Quiz on his feet, and by slinging one of his arms around each of their necks, they were able to drag him along between them. Their progress was painfully slow. Every few feet, vines, bushes and other impediments would snag on Quiz’s feet. And both Jerry and Sandy were physically exhausted from the night before. They had only gone as far as the stream when it became obvious to Sandy that the dead weight of the stout boy was too much for them.
“We’ll never make it, Jerry,” he gasped. “The fire will get us for sure.”
Jerry was on the verge of panic. “What’ll we do? We can’t leave him here.”