a hole through his right lung and Joe shot through the hip.
“Are they dying?” whispered Stanley in an awed voice.
“No die,” grunted the Indian, beginning to bind up the wounds and checking the flow of blood. Then he apologized, “Poor light. Bush in way. Fired quick; no good aim.”
“What’ll we do with them?” blankly inquired Abner, his mind centered on the Flat-Top ridge expedition.
“Lumber men near. I bring um,” replied Charlie. “They take men back to mills. Git white medicine. Then go to jail. Leave um here and I send men.”
“I told him to fetch up some of the Frenchmen to the old burn, where someone, prob’ly Nace, cut over the public lot. I thought mebbe some of our Frenchmen worked for Nace up there and could be used as witnesses against him,” explained Abner, as he and the boys limped on after the Indian.
“Here! See something,” suddenly said Charlie, turning to the right. Two rigid forms were stretched out on the ground, a blanket thrown over each.
“Big Nick. White man Pete,” informed Charlie.
