For the first time since they had found him, he showed signs of life—a soft moan and a fluttering of his eyelids.
“He’s got a lump the size of an egg on his head,” Sandy pointed out. He scooped up a handful of wet mud from the bed of the stream and plastered it on the swelling.
“Look, he’s coming to,” Jerry said.
Gradually, the injured boy’s eyes opened; they stared blankly into space for a few moments, then focused on the anxious faces hovering over him.
“Sandy ... Jerry ...” he said weakly. “Was I asleep?”
“You were out cold,” Sandy told him. He touched the lump on Quiz’s head gingerly. “Something must have conked you.”
Recollection flooded back to Quiz. “I climbed a tree to see if I could get a better look at the fire. A branch broke and that’s about all I remember.”
“Do you feel strong enough to walk?” Sandy asked him.
“I think so.” Suddenly his hands went to his eyes. “My glasses! Where are they? I can’t see two feet ahead of me without my glasses.”
Sandy winced. “I picked them up, Quiz. But I don’t think they’re going to do you much good.” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a pair of woeful-looking eyeglasses. The frames were twisted like a pretzel and the lenses were spiderwebbed with tiny shatters.