Here were both, and here was a familiar face--old
Heartburn's--bending reassuringly over Wren, and someone was ----. Why,
where was Carmody? Gone! And but a moment ago that dying head was there
on his knee, and then it was daylight, too, and now--why, it must be
after nightfall, else why these lanterns? And then old Heartburn came
bending over him in turn, and then came a rejoiceful word:
"Hello, Bugs! Well, it _is_ high time you woke up! Here, take a swig
of this!"
Blakely drank and sat up presently, dazed, and Heartburn went on with
his cheery talk. "One of you men out there call Captain Stout. Tell
him Mr. Blakely's up and asking for him," and, feeling presently a
glow of warmth coursing in his veins, the Bugologist roused to a
sitting posture and began to mumble questions. And then a burly shadow
appeared at the entrance, black against the ruddy firelight in the
canon without, where other forms began to appear. Down on his knee
came Stout to clasp his one available hand and even clap him on the
back and send unwelcome jar through his fevered, swollen arm. "Good
boy, Bugs! You're coming round famously. We'll start you back to Sandy
in the morning, you and Wren, for nursing, petting, and all that sort
of thing. They are lashing the saplings now for your litters, and
we've sent for Graham, too, and he'll meet you on the the way, while
we shove on after Shield's people.
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