"Oh! I'm glad you've gotten back again!" the wounded man told Phil. "It has seemed ages since you left; but I watched the sun, and knew that the hour had not passed that you said it might take. These are your friends, are they?"
"Yes, Ethan Allan and Raymond Tyson. We mean to get busy, and make some sort of a litter that will do to carry you on. Let's see, you begin and cut some poles, Ethan."
As the boy with the camp hatchet knew just what sort to select, he was soon busily engaged in chopping down small saplings. As these were trimmed of branches, and cut in proper lengths the other boys began to splice them together.
After all it was not a hard task. Although possibly none of them had ever built such a thing as a stretcher, they knew in a general way how it must be done in order to accommodate a wounded man. There were four handles by means of which it could be gripped and carried. These two main braces of course were extra strong, and made of hickory. Then the others were shorter and not so thick, so that the body of the stretcher might bend somewhat.
When the thing was completed the boys found some hemlock browse, with which they made as soft a bed as possible.
"Now, if you can stand for it to let us lift you, we'll soon be on our way," Phil went on to say to the injured man.
"I can stand anything but continued suspense," the other declared, bravely.
They could see that he had to shut his teeth tightly together in order to keep back his groans while they were lifting him as gently as they could. But despite his white face the man tried to smile at Phil when he saw the look of pity on the boy's face.
"Don't mind me—I'm all right—you're doing famously—I'll never, never forget it, either!" he said, between breaths.
Phil took one end, that nearer the patient's feet, while the other boys managed the second pair of handles between them. The stretcher had been made purposely narrow at the foot, so that one bearer could handle it.