"I'm glad none of us shot him!" Frank said.
The storm grew wilder at midnight, the wind blowing in great gusts
and the rain falling in sheets. By dodging out into the rain now
and then the boys managed to keep the fire going. Big Bob lay
perfectly silent before the fire for a long time and then motioned to Fremont.
"You're a good lad!" he said.
"Not long ago you were accusing me of crime," the boy said.
"Gather the boys around," the man said, then, "I want them to hear
what I am going to say. You may write it down if you want to."
The wounded man did not speak again for a long time, and while
the watchers waited a call came from outside of the hut--a long,
wavering scream, as of some one in dire distress.
"Some one lost on the mountain!" Frank exclaimed.
Nestor opened the door between the two rooms so that the light
of the fire might show through the open window from which Fremont
had escaped. The candle used by Big Bob had long since burned out.
The cries continued, seeming to come no nearer, and Frank went out
into the storm with the flashlight, watched by the others from the
window. They saw him force his way against the wind until he came
to the end of the gentle slope which terminated at an outcropping of
rock, then they saw him halt and stoop over.
In a moment more he was back at the hut, his face paler than before,
his eyes showing terror.
"There's some one out there with a broken leg," he said, "and we
must go and get him in.
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