Part 29 (2/2)

He was suddenly startled by a distinct sound from the injured man. It was the sawyer's voice, harsh but inarticulate, and it brought with it a suggestion that he might yet learn the truth. He increased his pace and reached the office a few moments later.

Here he prepared a pile of fur rugs upon the floor and laid the sawyer upon it. Then he waited for some minutes, but, as nothing approaching consciousness resulted, he finally left him, intending to return again when the doctor arrived. There was so much to be done in the mill that he could delay his return to it no longer.

It was nearly four hours later when he went back to his office. He had seen the work of salvage in order, and at last had a moment to spare to attend to himself. He needed it. He was utterly weary, and his lacerated chest was giving him exquisite pain.

He found Mansell precisely as he left him. Apparently there had been no movement of any sort. He bent over him and felt his heart. It was beating faintly. He lifted the lids of his closed eyes, and the eyeb.a.l.l.s moved as the light fell upon them.

He turned away and began to strip himself of his upper garments. There was a gash in his chest fully six inches long, from which the blood was steadily, though sluggishly, flowing. His clothes were saturated and caked with it. He bathed the wound with the drinking water in the bucket, and tearing his s.h.i.+rt into strips made himself a temporary bandage. This done, he turned to his chair to sit down, when, glancing over at the sick man, he was startled to find his eyes open and staring in his direction.

He at once went over to him.

”Feeling better, Mansell?” he inquired.

The man gave no sign of recognition. His eyes simply stared at him. For a moment he thought he was dead, but a faint though steady breathing rea.s.sured him. Suddenly an idea occurred to him, and he went to a cupboard and produced a bottle of brandy. Pouring some out into a tin cup, with some difficulty he persuaded it into Mansell's mouth. Then he waited. The staring eyes began to move, and there was a decided fluttering of the eyelids. A moment later the lips moved, and an indistinct but definite sound came from them.

”How are you now?” Dave asked.

There was another long pause, during which the man's eyes closed again.

Then they reopened, and he deliberately turned his head away.

”You--didn't--get--hurt?” he asked, in faint, spasmodic gasps.

”No.” Dave leaned over him. ”Have some more brandy?”

The man turned his head back again. He didn't answer, but the look in his eyes was sufficient. This time Dave poured out more, and there was no difficulty in administering it.

”Well?” he suggested, as the color slowly crept over the man's face.

”Good--goo----”

The sound died away, and the eyes closed again. But only to reopen quickly.

”He--said--you'd--get--killed,” he gasped.

”He--who?”

”Jim.”

The sawyer's eyelids drooped again. Without a moment's hesitation Dave plied him with more of the spirit.

”You mean Truscott?” he asked sharply. He was startled, but he gave no sign. He realized that at any time the man might refuse to say more.

Then he added: ”He's got it in for me.”

The sick man remained perfectly still for some seconds. His brain seemed to move slowly. When he did speak, his voice had grown fainter.

”Yes.”

Dave's face was hard and cold as he looked down at him. He was just about to formulate another question, when the door opened and Dr.

Symons hurried in. He was a brisk man, and took the situation in at a glance.

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