Ed was so relieved to hear a human voice that, as he said afterwards, “If it had been Bloodhound Pete himself I’d have welcomed him with open arms.” He hurried to the bushes looking down and saw there upon the ground the figure of a man. Stooping down, Ed made out a short disreputable man wearing an old sweater and peaked cap.

“What’s the matter?” Ed cried, stretching out his hand to help him up. “I’m shot,” groaned the stranger, and Ed drew back his hand quickly, to find his fingers wet and sticky. With a shudder Ed realized that this was blood.

When this sorry figure saw that his rescuer was a mere boy in knickers an ugly scowl twisted his unpleasant features and he swore. “Who you with? Where’s your pa?” he snarled.

“I’m alone,” Ed replied. “What’s the matter? Can I help?”

“Well, half a loaf’s better than no bread, I s’pose,” the stranger retorted ungraciously. “See here, I was huntin’ and got shot to pieces accidentally, see? Get somebody to tie me up and carry me outa dis hold.”

“You’re not supposed to hunt on this reservation,” put in Ed.

“Dat’s none o’ your business,” snapped the wounded man, angry to see he had made a slip.

“I can tie you up some,” Ed offered, although he hesitated to stop for this “good turn” when Warde was in danger. However, though torn between two duties, he felt that he could do nothing else but render first aid to this man as quickly as he could.

The water in his canteen came in handy now, and he bathed the gunshot wound in the man’s head and shoulder as best he could. The man, disappointed that the canteen contained not whiskey, but good water, cursed fretfully.

Ed found that doing practicing bandaging on an obliging fellow scout was a very different thing from binding up the hot, wet wounds of this man, who groaned in agony when touched. Privately Ed suspected the man as having been shot for a poacher or wounded in some bootleg scuffle perhaps as he carried no rifle or hunting outfit, and Ed entertained no very good opinion of him. His opinion, however, did not effect the thoroughness with which he tried to do the job. He tore up what remained of his ragged shirt, bandaged the man’s head, and made an emergency sling to ease his arm. The man could not bear to be moved, so Ed simply made him as comfortable as he could with a soft pile of leaves and promised to bring a doctor. The man’s gruffness had melted and he said, “You’se is a good little kid, and I won’t forget it. Beat it along now and hurry back.”

Ed then redoubled his speed down the mountainside in vain endeavor to make up for lost time. Trudging on and on, refusing to stop for sleep or rest, Ed walked all night long.

Dawn was just tinging the eastern mountain rims when Buck Whitley, an early bird, beheld a weird sight approaching the main cabin at Hermitage Rest. A small boy in undershirt and torn trousers stumbled wearily up the steps and collapsed.