Barrett had picked up one of the discarded bludgeons and was supporting himself on it. His legs trembled visibly when he walked to Ide's side. "Rodburd," he said, appealingly, "I can see that you think this thing strange. I don't want you to have wrong ideas. You and I have known each other too long to get into quarrels. You have seen that I have been trying to smooth matters here to-day. I can't talk it over with you now. I'm sick--I'm a sick man, Rodburd! I've been through a dreadful experience up here." "You don't look well," returned Ide, solicitously, his ever-ready sympathy enlisted. Barrett's face was haggard and his eyes were bloodshot. He wavered on his feet, tipping from heel to toe like a drunken man. "You ought to get out of these woods as quick as you can," the Castonia man went on. Even Britt saw now that his associate was in a bad way. He gave a keen glance at him, and shouted to MacLeod, who was waiting at the edge of the woods, "Send back four of my men!" "I feel dreadfully," mourned Barrett. His grit and his excitement had been keeping him up. Now, like most strong men who have to confess that they are conquered, he gave way to his illness with utter abandonment of courage. "Mr. Barrett," said Ide, surveying him pityingly, "I can see that you're a sick man. I don't want to say that to frighten you, but because you ought to know it. You'd better only try to make Castonia, and have a doctor sent there. My girl will be there as soon as you are. You go to my house, and get doctored up before you tackle the trip down-river. That buckboard ride will kill you if you try it in the shape you're in now." "You'd better do as he says, John," advised Britt, checking the timber baron's feeble protests. "I'm going to have these four men make a litter for you and lug you. You can stand that sort of ridin', but unless you are in better shape when you get to Castonia you wouldn't be good for that stage ride. Use common-sense, and rest up at Rodburd's house." "Give the men their orders," whispered the little Castonia magnate in an aside to Britt. "It's fever, and a bad one if I ain't mistaken. By the time he's got to my place he'll probably be too sick to give any orders of his own. I never saw a man grow sick so fast. Tell the men to leave him there." He talked impatiently, for his crew had disappeared up the trail. "I've got to be hurryin'," he added. "Mr. Barrett, make my home yours!" he cried over his shoulder, as he trotted off. "I'll be back in a few days--as soon as I get this crew of mine located." The four men were already at work securing poles and boughs for the litter. Barrett sat down upon a tussock, and held his throbbing head in his hands. He began weakly to complain that Britt had made a mistake in bringing his men and insisting on possession of the girl. The Honorable Pulaski promptly checked the incoherent expostulations of the stumpage baron.