“What! Sam Parker hurt?”
Varley wrung his hands in impatience. “No, no! Tree fell on a fellow. Parker stayed with him, and sent me for help.”
Step looked vastly relieved. “Oh, that’s it, eh? And Sam’s all right? And he’s staying with the other chap? Well, he knows what to do, if anybody knows.”
So speaking, Step swung one of his long legs over the low wall, and followed it with the other.
“Poke and I are just out for a breather—great going, eh? But if you’re after hustle, I’m your man. So’s Poke. Come along!”
Varley turned, and headed for the woods, the others keeping close beside him.
“If you’ve got wind enough, tell us just what happened,” Step suggested.
Varley did his best to comply. It is to be feared, though, that his story was not very coherent. Indeed, he had given his companions little more than an outline of the story when they reached the timber.
Sam had not been idle. He had scraped away a good deal of the snow about the injured man, and having found a stout pole, was experimenting with it as a lever, though he had not succeeded in raising the tree trunk by an inch.
The victim of the accident was groaning faintly; but he pluckily gritted his teeth, when Step and Poke sprang to the lever, and hoisted with all their strength. Then Varley added his efforts. The tree rose very, very slowly.