I knew that up to six or seven inches from the floor there is never much smoke and I knew he must have lain down low when he was almost unconscious and worked that damper.  And those fellows up there had been laughing and cheering all the while, when he was lying there like that.

I didn’t see Artie anywhere and there wasn’t any sound.  I lay down flat and crawled over to Wig and you bet I worked quick.  I tied his hands together with my scout scarf—­it was the Silver Fox scarf—­and I tied the scarf around my neck.

“Wig,” I said, but he didn’t speak and his legs and his neck hung loose, sort of, and it kind of scared me.  Then I crawled to the window, because I couldn’t see the door, dragging him after me.  Then I did something I never thought I could do, but maybe you’ve noticed you can do most anything when you have to.  I just stood up, then fell down again, coughing and choking, and my ears were buzzing all the time.  But I didn’t care, I just stood up again with him hanging to me, and I grabbed the window sill and dragged him half way across it and with his head outside, and then I staggered and tried to grab something and my eyes were stinging and, oh, I don’t know, all of a sudden my head knocked and I didn’t know any more.

Mr. Ellsworth says that Doc ought to write the rest of this chapter, but he wouldn’t, and it’s just like him.  The next thing I knew I was sitting on the lowest step and Connie Bennet was holding my head.  “You’re all right,” he said, “but you got a good bump.  You were only there a few seconds.”

“Did you pull me out?” I said.  “Where’s, Wig?”

“Doc brought him around,” he said, “he got him breathing, then it was easy.  We couldn’t find Artie.”

Maybe it was funny, but just then I didn’t seem to be thinking about Artie.  I felt my head and found I had a big bump on it.

“I should worry about that,” I said.  “Where’s Wig?”

Then I got up and went around the cabin to the forward deck and there were all the fellows and Wig sitting up and Doc Carson holding him and moving:  him, so as to keep him breathing—­scout fashion.

“All righto, kid,” Doc said, kind of pleasant, “you’re a brick.”

I always thought; that I was as big as he was, but he called me kid, and I didn’t care.  Anyways I couldn’t see him very good, I admit that.  Because—­oh, well, maybe you can understand.

“Artie’s missing,” he said.  “You didn’t see anything of him in there?”

“I couldn’t see at all, hardly,” I told him.

Then Wig turned his head and looked at me and he was all white and weak looking, especially when he smiled.  And he had the remains of my Silver Fox scarf, all torn, around his neck.

“All right?” he said very low.

But I just couldn’t speak to him.  I don’t know what made me do it, but I went up to him and he looked at the bump on my forehead and said, “Hurt?”

“You should worry about that,” I told him.