“What’s the matter with you?” cried Jack. “Are you going mad?”
“Pretty nigh, sir. Look at that—and that—and that!”
The three “thats” were so many imaginary blows in the air, delivered sharply and with all the man’s force.
“But I don’t understand you, Ned. What do you mean?”
“Why, can’t you see, sir? That arm’s been as dead as a stick ever since I got that arrow, now it has come to life again, and is stronger than ever. I know what’s done it!”
“Being obliged to try and use it,” cried Jack quickly.
“That’s got something to do with it perhaps, sir, but that isn’t everything. It was that soaking last night, and then the stewing in that hot sand. It took all the rest of the trouble away. Now then, only let me get a chance at one of these chaps, and I’ll try how he likes arrow. I’ll ’arrow his feelings a bit.”
“But are you sure your arm is quite strong again?” cried Jack joyfully.
For answer Ned swung his left round the speaker’s waist, lifted him from the ground, and held him up with ease.
“What do you say to that, sir? But there, come along, I want to get something to eat. I feel horrid, and begin to understand how it is that some of the people out here eat one another.”