"He 'pears powerful distressed about something," said Mrs.
Cavendish. "I reckon I'd better give him a little stimulant
now."
While she was gone for the whisky, Connie, who had squatted down
beside the bed, touched Yancy's hand which lay open. Instantly
his fingers closed about hers and he was silent; the movement of
his head ceased abruptly; but when she sought to withdraw her
hand he began to murmur again.
"I declare, what he wants is some one to sit beside him!" said
Mrs. Cavendish, who had returned with the whisky, a few drops of
which she managed to force between Yancy's lips. All the rest of
that day some one of the children sat beside the wounded man, who
was quiet and satisfied just as long as there was a small hand
for him to hold.
"He must be a family man," observed Mr. Cavendish when Polly told
him of this. "We'll tie up at Pleasantville landing and learn
who he is."
"He had ought to have a doctor to look at them cuts of his," said
Mrs. Cavendish.
It was late afternoon when the landing was reached. Half a score
of men were loafing about the woodyard on shore. Mr. Cavendish
made fast to a blasted tree, then he climbed the bank; the men
regarding him incuriously as he approached.
"Howdy," said Cavendish genially.
"Howdy," they answered.
"Where might I find the nearest doctor?" inquired Cavendish.
"Within about six foot of you," said one of the group.
"Meaning yourself?"
"Meaning myself."
Briefly Cavendish told the story of Yancy's rescue.
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