Hamp rubbed his arm.
“I thought the muscles were going to crack,” he said. “It was an awful strain. But I would have lost both arms sooner than see you drown, Jerry.”
“Better get the lad back to the campfire at once,” suggested the stranger.
This was good advice, for Jerry was simply speechless with cold. His face and hands were blue, and he shivered like a leaf as he stood with dripping clothes.
Hamp and Brick took Jerry between them, and away they sped for camp. The stranger followed, and he was close behind the others when they reached the fire. The boys now saw him clearly, for the first time, as he stood in the light of the flames.
The man was about thirty years old, with brown hair and a slight, yellowish mustache. His face was good-humored and rather prepossessing. He wore gray trousers, and a short, but heavy, overcoat was buttoned up to his throat.
“You’ve got dry clothes for the lad?” he asked.
“Yes; each of us has an extra suit,” replied Hamp.
He and Brick bustled in and out of the cabin, and in a brief time they had Jerry attired in dry garments. His lips were still blue, and he shivered as though he had a chill. The boys wrapped him in blankets, and made him sit close up to the fire. Then they heaped on quantities of wood, until the roaring flames were leaping high.
The stranger took a small flask from his pocket and wrenched a metal cup from the end. Into the latter he poured a few drops of a reddish liquor.