y
when I met you in the woods. I stooped down to crawl under a bush and
the weapon went off, the muzzle being close against my arm. I can't
understand how it happened. I fell down and called for help. Then I
guess I must have fainted, but I came to when I heard you talking to
me. I shouldn't have come out to-day as it is so wet, but I had some
new shot shells I wished to try in order to test them before the
hunting season. But if I can get to the sanitarium, I will be well
taken care of. I know one of the doctors there."

With Tom leading him and acting as a sort of support, the journey to
the motor-boat was slowly made. Making as comfortable a bed as
possible out of the seat cushions, Tom assisted Mr. Duncan to it, and
then starting the engine he sent his boat out from shore at half speed,
as the fog was still thick and he did not want to run upon a rock.

"Do you know where the sanitarium is?" asked the wounded hunter.

"About," answered Tom a little doubtfully, "but I'm afraid it's going
to be hard to locate it in this fog."

"There's a compass in my coat pocket," said Mr. Duncan. "Take it out
and I'll tell you how to steer. You ought to carry a compass if you're
going to be a sailor."

Tom was beginning to think so himself and wondered that he had not
thought of it before. He found the one the hunter had, and placing it
on the seat near him, he carefully listened to the wounded man's
directions. Tom easily comprehended and soon had the boat headed in
the proper direction. After that it was comparatively easy to keep on
the right course, even in the fog.

But there was another danger, however, and this was that he might run
into another boat. True, there were not many on Lake Carlopa, but
there were some, and one of the few motor-boats might be out in spite
of the bad weather.

"Guess I'll not run at full speed," decided Tom. "I wouldn't like to
crash into the RED STREAK. We'd both sink."

So he did not run his motor at the limit and sat at the steering-wheel,
peering ahead into the fog for the first sight of another craft.

He turned to look at Mr. Duncan and was alarmed at the pallor of his
face. The man's eyes were closed and he was breathing in a peculiar
manner.

"Mr. Duncan," cried Tom, "are you worse?"

There was no answer. Leaving the helm for a moment, Tom bent over the
injured hunter. A glance showed him what had happened. The tourniquet
had slipped and the wound was bleed