As he spoke there was a sound of running feet, coming down the lane.

The moon, shining through the breaking clouds, revealed a figure with floating garments rapidly approaching.

"My cats!" cried Sam in a terrified voice. "It's Mandy."

Like leaves before a sudden gust of wind the group scattered and only Sam was left.

"What--what are you doin'?" panted Mandy. "Where is he? Oh, is that him?" She flung herself down in the dust beside Cameron and turned him over. His face was white, his eyes glazed. He looked like death. "Oh!

Oh!" she moaned. "Have they killed you? Have they killed you?" She gathered his head upon her knees, moaning like a wounded animal.

"Good Lord, Mandy, don't go on like that!" cried Sam in a horrified voice. "It's only his leg broke."

Mandy laid his head gently down, then sprang to her feet.

"Only his leg broke? Who done it? Who done it, tell me? Who done it?"

she panted, her voice rising with her gasping breath. "What coward done it? Was it you, Sam Sailor?"

"Guess we're all in it," said Sam stupidly. "It was jist a bit of fun, Mandy."

For answer she swung her heavy hand hard upon Sam's face.

"Say, Mandy! Hold hard!" cried Sam, surprise and the weight of the blow almost knocking him off his feet.

"You cowardly brute!" she gasped. "Get out of my sight. Oh, what shall we do?" She dropped on her knees and took Cameron's head once more in her arms. "What shall we do?"

"Guess we'll have to git him in somewheres," said Sam. "How can we carry him though? If we had some kind of a stretcher?"

"Wait! I know," cried Mandy, flying off up the lane.

Before many minutes had pa.s.sed she had returned, breathing hard.

"It's--the---milkhouse--door," she said. "I--guess that'll--do."

"That'll do all right, Mandy. Now I wish some of them fellers would come."

Sam pulled off his coat and made of it a pillow, then stood up looking for help. His eye fell upon the prostrate and senseless form of Perkins.

"Say, what'll we do with him?" he said, pointing to the silent figure.

"Who is it?" enquired Mandy. "What's the matter?"

"It's Perkins," replied Sam. "He hit him a terrible crack."

"Perkins!" said Mandy with scorn. "Let him lie, the dog. Come on, take his head."

"You can't do it, Mandy, no use trying. You can't do it."

"Come on, I tell you," she said fiercely. "Quit your jawin'. He may be dyin' for all I know. I'd carry him alone if it wasn't for his broken leg." Slowly, painfully they carried him to the house and to the front door.

"Wait a minute!" said Mandy. "I'll have to git things fixed a bit. We mustn't wake mother. It would scare her to death."

She pa.s.sed quickly into the house and soon Sam saw a light pa.s.s from room to room. In a few moments Mandy reappeared at the front door.

"Quick!" whispered Sam. "He's comin' to."

"Oh, thank goodness!" cried Mandy. "Let's git him in before he wakes."

Once more they lifted their burden and with infinite difficulty and much painful manoeuvering they got the injured man through the doors and upon the spare room bed.

"And now, Sam Sailor," cried Mandy, coming close to him, "you jist hitch up Deck and hustle for the doctor if ever you did in your life. Don't wait for nothin', but go! Go!" She fairly pushed him out of the door, running with him towards the stable. "Oh, Sam, hurry!" she pleaded, "for if this man should die I will never be the like again." Her face was white, her eyes glowing like great stars; her voice was soft and tremulous with tears.

Sam stood for a moment gazing as if upon a vision.

"What are you lookin' at?" she cried, stamping her foot and pushing him away.

"Jumpin' Jeremiah!" muttered Sam, as he ran towards the stable. "Is that Mandy Haley? Guess we don't know much about her."

His nimble fingers soon had Dexter hitched to the buggy and speeding down the lane at a pace sufficiently rapid to suit the high spirit of even that fiery young colt.

At the high road he came upon his friends, some of whom were working with Perkins, others conversing in awed and hurried undertones.

"h.e.l.lo, Sam!" they called. "Hold up!"

"I'm in a hurry, boys, don't stop me. I'm scared to death. And you better git home. She'll be down on you again."

"How is he?" cried a voice.

"Don't know. I'm goin' for the doctor, and the sooner we git that doctor the better for everybody around." And Sam disappeared in a whirl of dust.

"Say! Who would a thought it?" he mused. "That Mandy Haley? She's a terror. And them eyes! Oh, git on, Deck, what you monkeyin' about?

Wonder if she's gone on that young feller? I guess she is all right!

Say, wasn't that a clout he handed Perkins. And didn't she give me one.

But them eyes! Mandy Haley! By the jumpin' Jeremiah! And the way she looks at a feller! Here, Deck, what you foolin' about? Gwan now, or you'll git into trouble."

Deck, who had been indulging himself in a series of leaps and plunges, shying at even the most familiar objects by the road side, settled down at length to a businesslike trot which brought him to the doctor's door in about fifteen minutes from the Haleys' gate. But to Sam's dismay the doctor had gone to Cramm's Mill, six or seven miles away, and would not be back till the morning. Sam was in a quandary. There was another doctor at Brookfield, five miles further on, but there was a possibility that he also might be out.

"Say, there ain't no use goin' back without a doctor.

She'd--she'd--Jumpin' Jeremiah! What would she do? Say, Deck, you've got to git down to business. We're goin' to the city. There are doctors there thick as hair on a dog. We'll try Dr. Turnbull. Say, it'll be great if we could git him! Deck, we'll do it! But you got to git up and dust."

And this Deck proceeded to do to such good purpose that in about an hour's time he stood before Dr. Turnbull's door in the city, somewhat wet, it is true, but with his fiery spirit still untamed.

Here again adverse fate met the unfortunate Sam.

"Doctor Turnbull's no at home," said the maid, smart with cap and ap.r.o.n, who opened the door.

"How long will he be gone?" enquired Sam, wondering what she had on her head, and why.

"There's no tellin'. An hour, or two hours, or three."

"Three hours?" echoed Sam. "Say, a feller might kick the bucket in that time."