Varley had had just a glimpse of what was occurring. It was because of this that he had cried out, instinctively trying to give warning, though he hardly realized the full danger to the man, of whom he first caught sight just before the tree struck him.
Sam, who had not perceived how near they were to the chopper until Varley gave him a hint, needed but a glance to understand the sort of accident which had befallen. He dashed to the side of the prostrate workman, caught his arm, and tried to drag him from beneath the tree. The effort was in vain. The man groaned feebly, and opened his eyes.
Varley, quivering with excitement, came up, and tugged uselessly at the tree trunk.
“Can’t we lift this? Tell me what to do—anything! I can’t stir it—it must weigh tons!” he exclaimed.
Sam was doing his best to think fast and clearly. The chopper, a big, powerful fellow though he was, could do nothing to help himself. Even had he suffered no injury he was so pinned down that he was held as if he were trapped. But for the deep cushion of snow he must have been terribly crushed; and even this had not served to save him from hurts which the boy believed to be serious enough.
The man spoke faintly, brokenly: “Get—get somebody! Over on the road—there’ll be somebody drivin’ along.”
Sam bent over him. “Where’s the nearest house?”
“Too—too far. And only the women folks to home. Try the—the road!”
“Where are you hurt—worst?”
The man made a feeble attempt to raise his head. With an effort he suppressed a moan. Big drops of sweat were showing on his forehead.