s well as in those tightly closed
teeth.

"Yep, 'twar an accident," almost fiercely replied one of the men, whom
Thad now recognized as the fellow whom they had met driving the vehicle
that Bob declared had kegs of the illicit mountain dew hidden under the
straw--Nate Busby. "We was walkin' thro' ther woods w'en a twig cort the
trigger o' my gun, and she hit Cliff in the arm, makin' a bad hurt.
Reckons as how he never kin hold out till we-uns git him acrost ter ther
doc's cabin."

"You could, if we managed to stop that bleeding," said Thad, eagerly.
"Bring him over here, and let me take a look, men. I've done a little
something that way. And perhaps you don't know it; but all Boy Scouts
are taught how to shut off the flow of blood. There, set him down, and
help me get his coat off. There's no time to lose."

"Nope, thar's sure no time tuh lose," muttered the wretched Nate, who
was undoubtedly feeling very keenly the fact that it had been _his_ gun
that had been discharged through accident, causing all this trouble; and
that if the man died, his relatives might even want to hold the unlucky
owner of that weapon to account for his carelessness, inexcusable in one
who had been mountain born and bred.

They sat the wounded man down as gently as though he had been a babe;
after which Nate assisted Thad to take the ragged coat off.

Some of the scouts crowded close, though with white faces; for the sight
of blood is always enough to send a cold chill to the hearts of those
unaccustomed to the spectacle. But Allan was an exception; and strangely
enough, there was Smithy, whom no one would ever have expected to show
the least bit of nerve, evidently ready to lend the amateur surgeon a
helping hand, if he called for recruits. It often takes a sudden
emergency call like this to show what is under the veneered surface of a
boy. Smithy had always been deemed rather effeminate; yet here he could
stand a sight that sent the cold shivers chasing up and down the spines
of such fellows as Giraffe, Davy Jones, and Step Hen, and almost
completely upset poor Bumpus.

"Get me one of those stout bandages I brought along, Allan, please,"
said Thad, when he could see what the terrible nature of the wound was;
"you know where they are. And Smithy, will you hand me that stick
yonder?"

In a brief space of time the several articles were at the service of the
boy, who first of all made a good-sized knot in the handkerchief, after
wrapping