Jerry had vanished. But now he appeared again.
“Well,” Curlie stammered, “we killed the bear.”
“Absolutely.” Once more Jerry smiled. “I’d have helped if I could.”
At once they turned their attention to the stranger. He was sitting up in the snow. His face, his jacket, the snow about him were red with blood.
“Wh—where did you come from?” he asked unsteadily.
“Sent from the sky,” was the boy’s quick reply.
“You—you saved my life.”
“Perhaps,” Curlie answered laconically. “We’ll get you to the house, then see how much of you is saved.”
Together he and Jerry assisted him to the cabin. And all the time the young aviator was asking himself, “Who is this man? Why is he alone in this vast wilderness four hundred miles from anywhere? Is he truly a member of that gang? Will they come here? And if they do?”
In the hours that followed there was little time to think of these things. The stranger had been clawed and bitten by the bear in a most alarming manner. Jerry, who until now had appeared pure mechanic, displayed astonishing ability in another line. Bringing his first-aid kit from the plane and supplementing it with materials taken from a medicine chest in the corner of the cabin, he displayed great skill in dressing the man’s wounds.