"It must be some one's lying there, and in pain!" Phil observed, though the idea gave him a thrill of apprehension.
He stepped closer, and when for the third time the same type of noise welled out of the bushes he made bold to call:
"Who's there? Do you need any help?"
There was a rustling sound. Then the bushes parted, and he saw a man's face peering at him. Phil could not remember ever having seen that face before, and yet it struck him that he ought to be able to give a good guess who the other was going to turn out to be. He had Mazie in his mind just then; her "daddy" was the only man known to be around that neighborhood.
The other beckoned to him, and as Phil approached he went on to say, in a voice that was half muffled, both with pain and anxiety:
"Oh! I'm glad that you've come, boy. My leg is broken, and I've got to the point where I can't seem to drag myself another yard. I'm hungry too, and crazy for a drink of water. But I was just making up my mind I might as well give up, and be done with it; because if she's dead there's no use of my living!"
That settled one thing in Phil's mind. The man was Mazie's father. Already the boy could see that he did not have the look of a villain. Pain and want had made deep lines on his face, but somehow Phil believed the other was all right.
He could easily imagine what the father must have suffered both in body and mind, with his little daughter lost in that big wilderness, and a broken leg preventing him from searching for her, as he would have wanted to.
Evidently he must be relieved in his mind as speedily as possible.
"Do you mean Mazie?" Phil asked.