"It's Thede Carson!"

"Not that little monkey of a Thede Carson who's always getting the
Beaver Patrol into trouble?" demanded Sandy. "What would he be
doing up here? I guess you're losing the sense of sight."

"Sure, it's Thede Carson," insisted Tommy.

"Well, I guess he's about all in," Sandy volunteered.

"Get busy then, with your first aid," Tommy ordered. "Get some of
his clothes off and get to work with snow, or his fingers and toes
will drop off as soon as they thaw out."

"I don't believe it's the cold so much as it is exhaustion," Sandy
ventured. "He seems to have been running a whole lot, for he's
still panting, I reckon he just dropped down when he couldn't run
any further."

"I guess that's about right," Tommy admitted. "He doesn't seem to
be very cold. It may be that wound on his head," the lad added,
pointing to a long gash in the scalp which, judging from the state
of the lad's clothing, had bled very freely.

"What do you think of coming away up here in the Hudson Bay country
and picking a member of the Beaver Patrol right out of the woods?"
demanded Sandy. "We seem to find Boy Scouts wherever we go."

The boys worked over the exhausted lad some moments, and then he
opened his eyes.