* * * * * *
I took Weston to Mary's house that day when I found him lying in the
charcoal clearing, with little Colonel standing over him wailing.
Tearing open his coat and shirt, I stanched his wound as best I could.
Then I called the others to me. Tip and Arnold picked him up and
carried him, while Murphy Kallaberger and I broke a path through the
bushes, and Aaron ran on to Warden's to tell them of the accident and
have them prepare for the wounded man. Warden's was the nearest house,
but that was a mile from the clearing, and in the woods our progress
was slow. Once free of the ridges and in the open fields the way was
easy, and Murphy could lend a hand to the others.
"He's monstrous light," Tip said. "He doesn't seem no more than skin
and bones in fancy rags."
It is strange how even our clothes go back on us when we are down.
Weston I had always known as a lanky man, but about his loosely fitting
garments there had been an air of careless distinction. Now that he
was broken, they hung with such an odd perversion as to bring from its
hiding-place every sharp angle in the thin frame.
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