“Do you mean they ran away, and left you like this?” demanded the amateur surgeon, twisting the stick he had inserted in the handkerchief that was already knotted around the leg. “Naw, they never knowed anything about me bein’ hurt,” whimpered Bill, and then he gave a little snort, going on: “Ouch! that hurts like all get out, Frank! Let up on a feller a little, can’t you? I know I ain’t always treated you white; but sure you wouldn’t take it out on me, now I’m down!” “You don’t understand, Bill,” Frank replied, giving even a firmer twist to the handkerchief by means of the grip he maintained on the stick which was passed through the upper part; “I’m trying to press down on the artery, and stop the flow of blood. It may hurt some; but be a man and bear it. I’m doing all I can to save your very life, Bill.” The wretched Bill began to cry, and Frank hardly knew what he could do, since he had his hands full with holding that knotted handkerchief, and the stick with which he had turned it again and again, until the knot pressed down exactly on the artery under the knee, and stopped the blood from flowing. Just then a runner came along. It was Wentworth, of course. And he gave signs of meaning to stop to ask what it all meant. Frank knew that possibly this runner might have a ghost of a show to come in either first, or second. Those further back would be out of the running by the time they arrived here; and he could depend on one of them to assist him. So he waved his hand to Wentworth, and called out: “Go on! Don’t stop for a second, Wentworth! You’ve still got some show! One of our Columbia boys here has been hurt. I’ll stop Mallory or Keating when they come on, to help me get him out of this before he bleeds to death. Get along with you now, Wentworth. Take the will for the deed! Your school wants you to make a try for that prize!” Thus urged, Wentworth did push right along, though be it said to his honor that he gave evidences of reluctance in so leaving Frank. He must have seen from the appearance of the wounded boy that it was a serious matter. “Oh! why did you let him go on?” complained Bill, who was getting a trifle light-headed, the result of the pain and excitement combined. “Looks like you just wanted me to die right here, Frank Allen.” “There are two other fellows coming along soon, and they’ll stop to help us,” Frank tried to console him by saying. “Yes, I can see one right now, and he’ll sure be here in a minute, Bill. Just keep up your pluck a little while more. It’s going to be all right; and you’ll pull through, never fear.” But poor Bill was almost in a state of collapse by the time Mallory reached the spot. Frank did not know this boy, for he was a newcomer in Bellport. But he had a good face; and sure enough, as soon as he understood what the matter was, he evinced a perfect readiness to stand by.