He waited only long enough to make sure that they were lowering their charge to the ground. Gus had no fear that two such staunch fellows as his chums would dream of giving up the game and deserting Sam then and there; they were not made of such base stuff as that.
He could see that they had their heads together, and eager to learn what was in the wind, he pushed up very close, so that he could catch their words. It was, of course, necessary to almost shout so as to be heard, and sometimes a sentence was utterly drowned by the crash of falling timber close by. Nevertheless this is about what the strained ears of Gus caught.
“He’s all in and done for, that’s sure, Hugh,” Arthur was saying.
“No question about that,” the other went on to say. “I began to guess it was coming from the way he hung on us. He couldn’t walk ten steps further if his life depended on it. Poor chap, he’s game, though!”
“Then I reckon we’ll have to carry him,” cried Arthur. “The only trouble about that is it’s always mighty hard to get a proper grip on a limp body, and walk for any distance. And I’m afraid it’s going to tax us to the limit to do that same thing, with this wind blowing forty ways for Sunday.”
“No use talking, we ought to have some sort of stretcher,” Hugh admitted. “That’s what makes me feel silly, because of all the things I thought to fetch along the camp hatchet wasn’t among the lot.”
“Too bad,” said Arthur. “What under the sun will we do about it, Hugh? To make a stretcher without anything to cut poles with is going to be a tough job.”
“Oh! Hugh, Arthur, I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” shouted Gus just then, so excited that he could hardly frame his words coherently.
From his actions any one might think Gus had suddenly been bitten by a rattlesnake, for he was jumping wildly up and down, and seemed to be pawing at his leg in a most idiotic manner.
“Got what?” burst from the astonished Arthur.