"It's so horrible.
The man's bleeding to death." "More shame for you to stand still and not try to help him," said Dick hotly.

"Here, you come and carry this end." Tom hastened to obey, heedless of the fact that the task would be the harder; and setting to with a will, the lads carried their load a few yards before setting it down again to rest.
This time, in spite of Tom's appeal not to be left alone, Dick went on for a bit so as to explore and make sure of the best way to get back to the boat, and not without avail, for he was able, in spite of the darkness, to pick out the firmest ground, his knowledge of the growth of the fen and its choice of soil helping him.
But it was a long and painful task.

The lads were faint and terribly hungry.

They had been working hard for several hours propelling the punt, and the load they were carrying would not have been an easy one for a couple of stout men.

Still, by means of that wonderful aid to success, perseverance, they at last got past bog and water-pool, patch of sphagnum, bed of reed, and slimy hollow, where the cotton rushes nourished, and reached the belt of waving reeds which separated them from the water.
It was not done without tremendous effort and a constant succession of rests; but they stood there at last bathed in perspiration, and waiting for a few minutes before lifting the sufferer into the boat.
Up to this time they had been so busy and excited that they had not paused to ask the question: How was it that the man had been wounded?
but as they lifted him carefully into the boat, Tom being in and Dick ashore, they both burst out with the query, as if moved by the same spring.
"I know," said Dick, as the truth seemed to flash upon him.