"Which foot is it?" asked Dr. Bentley.
"Left," replied Tag.
Dr. Bentley deftly removed the shoe, causing hardly more than
a trace of pain. Tag insisted on raising himself on his elbow
to look on. It was the first time he had ever been under a doctor's
care.
Dick took one look at the wistful eyes of the father, as Mr. Page
stood by the head of the cot, resting one hand on his supposed
son's shoulder.
"Come outside, fellows," called Dick. "Doctor, we'll be outside
if you want anything."
The onlookers in the tent started to go outside, except the father
and the physician.
"Come back, Hibbert," called Mr. Page softly. "You've been at
least a son to me during the last year. Now, remain and help
me to get acquainted with my own son."
Tag was silent. He could take punishment, and Dr. Bentley was
now hurting him quite a bit in his effort to get at the exact
nature of the injury.
"Reade," called the physician, "start a fire in a hurry. Heat
half a kettle of water for me as fast as you can. Prescott, run
over to my camp and ask Mrs. Bentley for my emergency case, the
two-quart bottle of bicarbonate of soda and a roll of four-inch
gauze."
Dick sped toward the Bentley camp as though on wings.
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