There was no
touch of life in all the picture; everything was silent and absolutely
motionless, and its desolation came near to appalling him. When he looked
around again, Vane smiled wryly.
"If this had happened farther north, it would have been the end of me,"
he said. "As it is, it's awkward."
The word struck Carroll as singularly inexpressive, but he made an effort
to gather his courage when his companion broke off with a groan of pain.
"It's lucky we helped that doctor when he set Pete's leg at Bryant's
mill," he declared cheerily. "Can you wait a few minutes?"
Vane's face was beaded with damp now, but he tried to smile.
"It strikes me," he answered, "I'll have to wait a mighty long time."
Carroll turned and left him. He was afraid to stand still and think, and
action was a relief. It was some time before he returned with several
strips of fabric cut from the tent curtain, and the neatest splints he
could extemporize from slabs of stripped-off bark; and the next half-hour
was a trying one to both of them. Sometimes Vane assisted him with
suggestions--once he reviled his clumsiness--and sometimes he lay silent
with his face awry and his lips tight silent; but at length it was done
and Carroll stood up, breathing hard.
"I'll fasten you on to a couple of skids and pull you out. Then I'll make
camp here."
He managed it with difficulty, pitched the tent above Vane, whom he
covered with their blankets, and made a fire outside.
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