A misfortune had indeed overtaken Alec and Hugh soon after they had turned the tide in favor of the Blue Army.
In descending from a ledge of rock that overhung the valley to a lower level where a path wound along the side of the hill, Alec, carrying his flags in one hand, and clinging to saplings that grew in the crevices of the rock with the other, slipped and fell, barely saving himself from tumbling headlong over the cliff.
When he attempted to rise, an excruciating stab of pain in his left ankle gave warning of a bad sprain.
“I’ve twisted my ankle, Hugh,” he said ruefully, gazing up where Hugh knelt on the ledge above him. “I can’t bear my weight on it just now.”
He spoke lightly, but there was a catch in his voice.
Admiring his pluck, Hugh looked at him with an expression of deep concern.
“Wait a second, Alec. I’ll help you up out of that little ravine you’ve fallen into. Jingo! I thought you would surely slide over the edge when I saw you fall! I was so thankful that you had the sense to stop short!”
“Were you?”
“You bet I was!” While he was speaking, Hugh was lowering himself cautiously down from the ledge, and creeping along until he stood beside Alec. “At last! Are you badly hurt? Let’s see your ankle. Why, it’s beginning to swell already! Here, let me take off your heavy shoe.”
“If you do, I’ll never be able to get it on again! As things are now, I don’t see how I’m going to get down to Oakvale. And as for getting back to Pioneer Camp!—it seems to be at the other end of nowhere, so far away!”