a tree and hurried off into the dripping woods in
the direction of the voice that was calling for aid.

CHAPTER XI

A QUICK RUN

"Where are you?" cried Tom. "Are you hurt? Where are you?"

Uttering these words after he had hurried into the woods a short
distance, the young inventor paused for an answer. At first he could
hear nothing but the drip of water from the branches of the trees;
then, as he listened intently, he became aware of a groan not far away.

"Where are you?" cried the lad again. "I've come to help you. Where
are you?"

He had lost what little fear he had had at first, that it might be one
of the unscrupulous gang, and came to the conclusion that he might
safely offer to help.

Once more the groan sounded and it was followed by a faint voice
speaking:

"Here I am, under the big oak tree. Oh, whoever you are, help me
quickly! I'm bleeding to death!"

With the sound of the voice to guide him, Tom swung around. The appeal
had come from the left and, looking in that direction, he saw, through
the mist, a large oak tree. Leaping over the underbrush toward it he
caught sight of the wounded man at its foot. Beside him lay a gun and
there was a wound in the man's right arm.

"Who shot you?" cried Tom, hurrying to the side of the man. "Was it
some of those patent thieves?" Then, realizing that a stranger would
know nothing of the men who had stolen the model, Tom prepared to
change the form of his question. But, before he had an opportunity to
do this, the man, whose eyes were closed, opened them, and, as he got a
better sight of his face, Tom uttered a cry.

"Why, it's Mr. Duncan!" exclaimed the lad. He had recognized the rich
hunter, whom he had first met in the woods that spring shortly after
Happy Harry, the tramp, had disabled Tom's motor-cycle. "Mr. Duncan,"
the young inventor repeated, "how did you get shot?"

"Is that you, Tom Swift?" asked the gunner. "Help me, please. I must
stop this bleeding in my arm. I'll tell you about it afterward. Wind
something around it tight--your handkerchief will do."

The man sighed weakly and his eyes closed again. The lad saw the blood
spurting from an ugly wound.

"I must make a tourniquet," the youth exclaimed. "That will check the
bleeding until I can get him to a doctor."

With Tom to think was to act. He took out his knife and cut off Mr.
Duncan's sleeves below the injury, slashing through coat and shirts.
Then