“Oh, she’s going to die, she’s going to die,” he moaned.
Garry’s brain spun with thought.
“Quick,” he shouted to the old man. “There’s one thing that will save her. What did you do with that foodstuff you took out of the pack there?”
The sharpness of his tone startled the old man into activity. The words of Garry that there was one way to save her galvanized him into action.
“It’s up there on the shelf back of you. Can ye save my baby? Hurry! Save her an’ there’s nothin’ on this earth I won’t do for ye!”
Garry had fortunately remembered that he had in his knapsack a package of cornstarch that they had brought to make thickening for gravy in case they did any cooking. Garry, and for that matter both of his chums, were pastmasters in the art of first aid to the injured. They knew that the antidote for iodine was cornstarch.
Rushing to the shelf, Garry snatched the package and tore open the top. His eyes fell on a can of mustard and he seized that.
On the ground outside the door Garry had noted a campfire with an old tin pail swung across it on a branch held up by forked sticks. Working with the speed of an express train, he dashed through the door and grabbed the pail of hot water.
Back in the cabin, he took a tin cup from the table, and hastily melting some of the mustard, made an emetic. This he gently forced the frightened child to swallow. Soon the emetic had the desired effect, and by this time Garry had moistened the cornstarch to the consistency of cream.
While the frightened squatter looked on helplessly, Garry fed the cornstarch to the baby, who seemed instinctively to trust the boy, and made little fuss over taking the pasty drink.