“No, you didn’t,” said Jim sternly. “You weren’t anywheres near him when he was shot; and if you hadn’t been sickening with fever you wouldn’t of run away. Balenger was shot by a man from Quebec and Ben O’Dell is hunting him this very minute.”
“Who’s Ben O’Dell?”
“He’s John’s son. Now you quit talking and take a rest.”
“I was at John’s funeral. You didn’t know it but I was there. No one knew it, for I was ashamed to show myself. He was my friend. He was my company commander once.”
“I know all about that, Dick. But you mustn’t talk any more now. Yer a sick man.”
Sherwood fell asleep. Jim and Noel made a stretcher of two poles, crosspieces and a pair of blankets; at ten o’clock they broke camp. They made a mile in slow time, then set the stretcher down and fed their patient. They marched again, walking with the utmost care, but Sherwood soon became excited and they had to halt, make a fire and bathe and dress his hand and arm. Again they dosed him and fed him. They rested until long past noon. They thought him to be asleep when they raised the stretcher for the third time, but he awoke instantly.
“Leave me alone!” he cried. “You can’t fool me! I know you. You set a trap for me.”
They kept on.
“That trap wasn’t set for you, Dick,” said McAllister over his shoulder. “That was a mistake.”
“I didn’t shoot Balenger, honest I didn’t!” pleaded Sherwood. “I was going to—if I had the nerve—but I didn’t do it. I was scared—afraid they’d hang me and Marion would starve—that’s why I ran. But you set a trap for me—and caught me—and now you’ve got me.”