"Sam," said the younger man.
"What?"
"I know I'm hard to get along with just now. Don't mind me. It's hell to lie on your back and be able to do nothing. I've seemed to hinder the game from the first. Just wait till I'm up again!"
"That's all right, my boy," replied Sam. "I understand. Don't worry. Just take it easy. I'll look over the district, so we won't be losing any time. And, Dick, be decent to the girl."
"To hell with the girl," growled Dick, lapsing abruptly from his expansive mood. "She got me into this."
Not another word would he speak, but lay, staring upward, chewing the cud of resentment.
Promptly on the heels of his decision Sam Bolton had a long talk with May-may-gwán, then departed carrying a little pack. It was useless to think now of the canoe, and in any case the time of year favoured cross-country travel. The distances, thus measured, were not excessive, and from the Indian's descriptions, Sam's slow-brooding memory had etched into his mind an accurate map of the country.
At noon the girl brought Dick his meal. After he had eaten she removed the few utensils. Then she returned.
"The Little Father commanded that I care for your hurt," she said, simply.
"My leg's all right now," growled Dick. "I can bandage it myself."