John paused, and would have added something; but Frank, his face half flushed in confusion, his voice less rasping than usual, broke in,
"Say! stranger, when I first saw you I sized you up along with the Siwashes as a 'heap dam dood,' though I didn't like to say it serious-like; but that's a pretty good talk of yours, and, sure, sounds natural. Say! is that other 'King George man' with you as good a fellow as you are? Say! you've set me thinking!"
Frank had set Berwick thinking too.
CHAPTER XIV
A LONG SHOT
Hugh Spencer was working as upper man on the whip-saw, and an Indian was trying to extract a cartridge from an old and rusty rifle at his camp down the river. Suddenly there was a report, and Hugh tumbled headlong from his position. His friends sprang to his side, and found blood spurting from a hole in his neck.
The flow was not great, so that their first feeling of horror was changed to hopefulness. John shouted and waved to Haskins, whom he saw standing near his scows. Haskins came running up, was told what had happened, and with the single word, "Wait!" bolted to his tent. He was back again in little more than a minute, with a camp-bed, blankets and all. Few words were spoken, and those in whispers. The injured man was lifted on to the bed, and carried to the tent, his temporary home.
"George, hot water." George was off to the cook-tent at the word, while Haskins got Hugh on his side, the wound uppermost, and Frank arrived hurriedly.