At this point the consultation was enlarged, and its character somewhat modified by the coming of Dr. Sandford upon the scene. From a height not far off, where he was roaming with his gun, he had perceived the group discerned that something was wrong, and come down with a quick step to reach them. His eye rather than his voice asked what was the matter. He was answered in various styles by the different members of the group.
"Here is a muss!" said Ransom.
"Miss Daisy, sir, she is left standing in the middle o' the forest!"—said Logan.
"Sam has very stupidly sprained his ankle," said Preston, "and cannot move."
The doctor without a word turned in the direction from which Logan had come. "Follow me, young gentlemen," said he, looking over his shoulder,—-"I shall need your help." So unwillingly enough, the boys, fishing tackle and all, turned back upon their steps, and followed. They soon came to Daisy's emptied chair, where she stood mounting guard over Sam.
The ankle was badly sprained; there was no doubt of that. Sam not only could carry nobody; he must himself be carried. The doctor ordered that Logan should take him on his back and convey him as far as the poor little house they had passed on the way. A good lift it was, for Sam was a well grown, stout fellow; but Logan was a long-limbed, sinewy, brawny Scotchman, and he made no difficulty of the job. The doctor in the first place deposited his gun against a tree, and did what was needful for the hurt ankle.
"Now," said he to Daisy, "how are you going to get forward?"
"I can walk the rest of the way," said Daisy.
"Pardon me. Not with my leave. Boys, which, of you will take the honour of being chair-bearers? I have my gun to care for."
"I will be one," said Preston.