Mrs. O’Dell and Noel Sabattis did everything they could think of for his relief. Mrs. O’Dell feared for his life, but old Noel was hopeful.
“Tough feller, Sherwood,” he said. “Dat four-mile trip to-day fuss ’im up some, but he ain’t so bad like when we find ’im. T’ink he dead man for sure dat time, me an’ Jim. Doctor fix ’im a’right.”
Mrs. O’Dell left the sick room for a little while. Marion saw tears on her cheeks.
“Won’t the man from the woods get well, Aunt Flora?” she asked.
“He is very ill, dear—and in great pain—with a wounded hand,” replied the woman, kissing her.
“Does Noel think he will have to be put in the ground—like Julie was—my mother Julie?”
The woman held the little girl tight for a moment.
“Noel thinks he will get well,” she whispered.
At six o’clock Sherwood was sleeping quietly, heavy with fever and evidently unconscious of his hand. By seven he was tossing and talking wildly again. There was no sign of Jim McAllister or the doctor.
Eight o’clock came, and still there was no word or sign of Jim or Doctor Scott. The sick man was bathed in perspiration by this time.