“Let’s look him over.” The aviator was young, brisk and business-like. His slim fingers moved rapidly over the silent form. “Leg broken, that’s sure,” he muttered. “Bump on the head, not too bad.
“We’ve got to get him to a doctor at once.” His voice took on a note of command. “Where’s the nearest doctor?”
“At the Gap, fifteen miles away!” Ballard’s tone told his despair. “Wagon road, all rocks. Take hours!”
“That’s out!” the aviator decided instantly. “Come on,” he said to Johnny. “Lift him up. I’ll take this end, now! March!” He led the way toward the airplane on the double-quick.
“I’ve got blankets. Make him a litter on the floor of my airplane cabin. We’ll have him at a city hospital in short notice,” the aviator said.
“You’ll take him by air?” Ballard stared.
“Sure! Why not?”
“Tha—that,” Ballard replied huskily, “will be noble.”
“Now then,” the pilot said ten minutes later. “Who’s going along to look after him? Two of you if possible.”
“I—I. How I’d like to!” Ballard was near to tears. “But he’d want me to stay with the mill. It—it might be terribly important.”