At that moment the farmer’s wife appeared, bringing a drink of hot ginger and water, which the man on the couch gulped down gratefully.
“We’ll put him in the spare room, Mabel,” decided the farmer. “He needs a good warm bed more’n anything else just now. I’ll look after him, if these boys here will help me.”
“I—I think I was shot—” muttered the stranger. He motioned weakly toward his side.
Frank leaned over.
“Why, there’s blood on his coat!” he exclaimed.
A hasty examination showed that the stranger was right. There was a bullet wound in his right side. It was evidently not serious, merely a flesh wound, but it had bled freely and the man was weakened.
Gently, the boys helped removed his clothing, and with warm water and a sponge the farmer bathed the wound. The bullet had passed rig
