“Come quick--he's mutterin' and mumblin' and moving his head!” he cried. It was as the child said. Yancy had roused from his heavy stupor. Words almost inaudible and quite inarticulate were issuing from his lips and there was a restless movement of his head on the pillow. “He 'pears powerful distressed about something,” said Mrs. Cavendish. “I reckon I'd better give him a little stimulant now.” While she was gone for the whisky, Connie, who had squatted down beside the bed, touched Yancy's hand which lay open. Instantly his fingers closed about hers and he was silent; the movement of his head ceased abruptly; but when she sought to withdraw her hand he began to murmur again. “I declare, what he wants is some one to sit beside him!” said Mrs. Cavendish, who had returned with the whisky, a few drops of which she managed to force between Yancy's lips. All the rest of that day some one of the children sat beside the wounded man, who was quiet and satisfied just as long as there was a small hand for him to hold. “He must be a family man,” observed Mr. Cavendish when Polly told him of this. “We'll tie up at Pleasantville landing and learn who he is.” “He had ought to have a doctor to look at them cuts of his,” said Mrs. Cavendish. It was late afternoon when the landing was reached. Half a score of men were loafing about the woodyard on shore. Mr. Cavendish made fast to a blasted tree, then he climbed the bank; the men regarding him incuriously as he approached. “Howdy,” said Cavendish genially. “Howdy,” they answered. “Where might I find the nearest doctor?” inquired Cavendish. “Within about six foot of you,” said one of the group. “Meaning yourself?” “Meaning myself.” Briefly Cavendish told the story of Yancy's rescue. “Now, Doc, I want you should cast an eye over the way we've dressed his cuts, and I want the rest of you to come and take a look at him and tell who he is and where he belongs,” he said in conclusion. “I'll know him if he belongs within forty miles of here in any direction,” said the doctor. But he shook his head when his eye rested on Yancy. “Never saw him,” he said briefly. “How about them bandages, Doc?” demanded Cavendish. “Oh, I reckon they'll do,” replied the doctor indifferently. “Will he live?” “I can't say. You'll know all about that inside the next forty-eight hours. Better let the rest have a look.” “Just feel of them bandages--sho', I got money in my pants!” Mr. Cavendish was rapidly losing his temper, yet he controlled himself until each man had taken a look at Yancy; but always with the same result--a shake of the head. “I reckon I can leave him here?” Cavendish asked, when the last man had looked and turned away. “Leave him here--why?” demanded the doctor slowly. “Because I'm going on, that's why. I'm headed for downstream, and he ain't in any sort of shape to say whether he wants to go or stop,” explained Cavendish. “You picked him up, didn't you?” asked one of the men.