Suddenly Tom, who was walking as fast as he could and was ahead of Jack, stumbled and fell against a root. When Jack got beside him he was white with pain.
"I guess I must have twisted my foot pretty badly," he said. "I don't believe I can stand on it for a while."
He put a hand on Jack's shoulder and tried to walk, but found the pain too great.
"Here, let me see it," cried Jack. "I may be able to do something to make it better."
Tenderly he removed Tom's shoe, and turning the stocking back from the injured ankle, rubbed and examined it thoroughly.
"I may hurt you when I rub it around, Tom," he said, "but it won't hurt your ankle for more than a minute."
For two or three minutes, while Tom, with set teeth, endured the pain without even a whimper, Jack rubbed and massaged the ankle, already slightly swollen.
"It's just a strain, I think, Tom," he said. "I'll find a spring or a brook, if they're not all dried up around here, and make a cold compress for it. Next to blazing hot water, that's the best thing to do for it, and I think you'll be able to get to Haskell Crossing pretty soon, with a little help from me. Then we can get a train or a trolley back."
"Gee, I never thought, Jack! You can't do that! If you go back with me, you won't be able to get your First Class Scout badge."
"What of it, Tom? I guess I can wait a week or two for that without suffering very much. And you didn't think I'd leave you alone here, or to go home alone, did you? You can't walk back on that foot—that's one sure thing."