The boy knew no more than, "He had to let go, he
had to let go."
Together with Grier, Wilbur started back along the road to look for what
might be left of Merritt. The foreman tried to persuade the lad to stay,
for he was bleeding from a scalp wound and his left wrist was sorely
twisted, if not actually sprained, but Wilbur replied that he had said
he was going back to look for Merritt, and go back he would if both arms
and legs were broken. Kit, although very much blown, was willing to be
taken up the road at a fair gallop, when, just as they turned a corner,
they almost ran down the Supervisor, who was walking down the road as
unconcernedly as though nothing had happened.
"Oh, Mr. Merritt," cried the boy, "I thought you were dead."
"Cheerful greeting, that," answered the Forester. "No, I'm not dead. You
look nearer it than I do."
"But didn't you get run down?"
"Do I look as if I'd been a sidewalk for a thousand steers?" was the
disgusted reply. "Don't ask silly questions, Loyle."
But the foreman broke in:
"The boy's right enough to ask," he said; "an' there's no reason why you
shouldn't tell. How did you dodge the steers?"
"That was easy enough," said Merritt. "I held on to Baldy until I saw a
crack in the rock big enough to hold a man. Then I let go and crawled
into that until the herd passed by."
The boy breathed a sigh of relief.
"I sure thought you were gone," he said.
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