At a nod from Sam the boys laid hold of the poles, Sam himself and Step at the man’s head, and Poke and Varley at his feet.
“Easy, everybody!” was the leader’s caution, but it was hardly necessary. With all imaginable care the stretcher was raised, and the bearers began their slow march. Luckily, the hardest part of it was soon over. Once they were out of the woods and in the open fields progress was easier, especially for Varley, who was still far from master of his snow-shoes.
Sam had learned where the man lived, and directed their course toward the house, which was perhaps a quarter-mile from the scene of the accident. Before reaching it they came to the road, and had to solve a problem in scaling the wall with their burden. This they accomplished safely, though not without much trouble; but, as if in speedy reward, they then experienced an unexpected bit of good fortune.
A white horse came trotting along the beaten track, drawing a sleigh in which rode a gray old man, muffled in a huge fur coat. At sight of the party the old man pulled up.
“Dr. Emery!” cried Poke and Step joyfully.
The doctor sprang from the sleigh. He needed no explanation of what had happened. He made hasty examination of the woodsman; glanced at the extemporized stretcher; grunted.
“Huh! Good idea, that! Rough and ready, but it answers. And you’re bringing him in? Right!”
The injured man forced the wanest and faintest of smiles.
“Say, Doc!” he whispered. “Them—them boys—they—they’ve got gumption!”
The doctor nodded briskly, and began to climb into his sleigh.