"Got 'em ashore!" he panted, "but they can't walk yet."
"Anybody hurt?" asked Enoch.
"Nobody but the Na-che. I gotta take the Ida out after her."
"She's beyond help, Jonas," said Enoch. "Go up to the Ida and bring me
the medicine chest."
He was unbuttoning Milton's shirt as he spoke, and feeling for his
heart.
"He's alive!" exclaimed Forrester, who was holding Milton's wrist.
"Yes, thank God! But I don't like that!" pointing to Milton's left leg.
"It's broken!" cried Forrester. "Poor old Milt!"
Poor old Milt, indeed! When he finally opened his eyes, he was lying
on his blankets on a flat rock, and Jonas and Harden, still dripping,
were finishing the fastenings of a rude splint around his left leg.
Enoch was kindling a fire. Forrester and Agnew were unloading the Ida.
He tried to sit up.
"What the deuce happened?" he demanded.
"That's what we want to know!" exclaimed Harden cheerfully.
"You had a dizzy attack after you pulled Forr in," said Enoch, "and
rolled off the boat. Just how you broke your leg, we don't know."
"Broke my leg!" Dismay and disbelief struggled in Milton's face.
"Broke my leg! Why, but I can't break my leg!"
"That's good news," said Agnew unsmilingly, "and it would be important
if it were only true.
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