Dale opened his eyes and gazed around stupidly. Then he tried to sit up. A fearful pain in his left arm and shoulder caused him to sink back once more. "Well, lad, how do you feel?" asked Westmore kindly, as he knelt on the brushwood. "I--I don't know yet," gasped Dale. "My left arm--oh!" "Guess it's broken, sure enough," said the older lumbermen. "Better let it rest till the doctor comes." "Where is Owen?" "Done up like yourself. He went into the brushwood head first, and that saved him some broken bones, and maybe a broken neck. But he got scratched pretty roughly, and some of the boys are binding up his cuts." "And the train--was that wrecked?" "It was a putty good smash-up, but the locomotive and four cars are all right. Only the rear end suffered. Jackson jumped as soon as he saw the chain break, so he wasn't hurt." "I'm glad of that," murmured Dale, and then he said no more. The pain in his arm and his shoulder made him grit his teeth to keep from shrieking aloud. A broad slab was brought forward, and he was placed on this and carried to one of the cabins. Owen had already been brought in, and sat in a low chair, his forehead, and throat, and one hand bandaged. "I feel as if I'd been through a threshing machine," declared Owen. "I plowed through the brushwood so fast that the twigs cut like a knife. I finished up in a ditch of water, and that likely saved me from a broken head." It was a good hour before the doctor arrived. He declared that Dale's elbow and his shoulder were both dislocated, and called in the assistance of Andy Westmore to help him in setting the joints as they belonged. The operation made Dale wince, but he shut his teeth hard, and although great beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, he uttered no word of protest. "He's gritty," said Westmore. "Reg'lar Maine boy to the backbone." And his friendliness toward the youth increased wonderfully. Along the railroad track half a dozen trucks, and four of the big sticks of timber, lay in a confused mass, along with several sections of rails and ties. Mr. Balasco had been down to the Columbia at the time the accident occurred, and now he telephoned that his head man should take charge and straighten things up as soon as possible. But the day was drawing to a close, and little could be done in the dark. "How do you feel now, Dale?" asked Owen, after the doctor and the majority of the men had departed. "I feel a good deal better than I did before those joints were set, Owen. How they hurt!" "You were lucky not to have something broken, and I was lucky, too." "How did that chain happen to break?" "I don't know. It was rusty-looking. Perhaps one of the links was rusted through." "Do you suppose Mr. Balasco will hold us responsible for the accident?" "I don't see how he can. We took the chains that were given us and fastened them just as the others were fastened. If the links were weak, that wasn't our fault."