But Dr. Bentley had slipped into the tent, quickly arranging one
of the cots with the skill of the hospital worker.

"Bring the young man in here," called the physician, appearing
in the doorway of the tent. "We'll soon find out how bad the
injury is."

Tag was lowered down upon the blanket.

"Which foot is it?" asked Dr. Bentley.

"Left," replied Tag.

Dr. Bentley deftly removed the shoe, causing hardly more than
a trace of pain. Tag insisted on raising himself on his elbow
to look on. It was the first time he had ever been under a doctor's
care.

Dick took one look at the wistful eyes of the father, as Mr. Page
stood by the head of the cot, resting one hand on his supposed
son's shoulder.

"Come outside, fellows," called Dick. "Doctor, we'll be outside
if you want anything."

The onlookers in the tent started to go outside, except the father
and the physician.

"Come back, Hibbert," called Mr. Page softly. "You've been at
least a son to me during the last year. Now, remain and help
me to get acquainted with my own son."

Tag was silent. He could take punishment, and Dr. Bentley was
now hurting him quite a bit in his effort to get at the exact
nature of the injury.

"Reade," called the physician, "start a fire in a hurry. Heat
half a kettle of water for me as fast as you can. Prescott, run
over to my camp and ask Mrs. Bentley for my emergency case, the
two-quart bottle of bicarbonate of soda and a roll of four-inch
gauze."

Dick sped toward the Bentley camp as though on wings. While Mrs.
Bentley was gathering the things for him the girls crowded about,
asking eager questions about Tag, or Egbert Page, as he might
prove to be. But Dick delayed to talk only until Mrs. Bentley
had placed the desired things in his hands. Then he sped back,
in time to hear the physician saying:

"Only a sprain. A painful one, to be sure. But this young man
may be moved in an automobile in an hour or two. By to-morrow
morning he ought to be able to get about with the aid of a crutch."

"In jail is where I'll do my moving about," grunted Tag.

"No matter where it be, my boy," protested Mr. Page, "if they
lock you up they'll have to take me, too. Besides, I have money,
and bail is possible."

"Bail?" repeated Tag. "Would you go my bail, and trust me not
to jump it?"

"The Page honor would never permit you to jump bail," replied
the old man, with simple but positive belief in his tone.

Hardly had