Tom," he said, "but it won't hurt
your ankle for more than a minute."

For two or three minutes, while Tom, with set teeth, endured the pain
without even a whimper, Jack rubbed and massaged the ankle, already
slightly swollen.

"It's just a strain, I think, Tom," he said. "I'll find a spring or a
brook, if they're not all dried up around here, and make a cold
compress for it. Next to blazing hot water, that's the best thing to
do for it, and I think you'll be able to get to Haskell Crossing pretty
soon, with a little help from me. Then we can get a train or a trolley
back."

"Gee, I never thought, Jack! You can't do that! If you go back with
me, you won't be able to get your First Class Scout badge."

"What of it, Tom? I guess I can wait a week or two for that without
suffering very much. And you didn't think I'd leave you alone here, or
to go home alone, did you? You can't walk back on that foot--that's
one sure thing."

Tom protested that all Jack should do was to get him to the station,
whence he said he could manage to get home all right, but Jack wouldn't
hear of such an idea, and, after he had put the cold water bandage on
Tom's ankle, he helped his comrade the short distance that remained to
the track, and the little flag station at Haskell Crossing.

The sun was low on the horizon when they got there. In the little
shanty that served as a station, loafing and wishing for something to
do, was a red-headed, gawky youth whose business it was to set signals
and listen at a telegraph key for the orders that went flashing up and
down the line.

"There's no train back to town for four hours," he told them, when they
asked how soon they could get a train. "One went a few minutes
ago--you must have heard it whistle. Hurt, there, sonny?"

"Twisted my ankle a bit," said Tom Binns, with a plucky smile.

"Sho, that's too bad," said the red-headed one. "Here, come into the
station and set down! There's a place in the freight daypo where you
can be more comfortable like."

The shanty was divided into two parts. One was for the sale of
tickets, though Jack guessed that there were few purchasers, the other
held a few empty milk cans, which showed pretty well what made up the
bulk of the freight handled there. But there was a pile of sacks in
one corner, also, and on those, arranged and spread out like a bed, Tom
was made fairly comfortable. Rest was what his ankle needed, and he
could rest there as