“Oh!” yelled Pan, but the men held on, and Syd was about to tear open the boy’s shirt, when Rogers exclaimed—
“Sleeve’s all wet here, sir,” and he pointed to the fleshy part of the boy’s arm.
“Oh lor’!” groaned Strake.
“Ah, let me see,” cried Syd, eagerly; and he took out and opened his knife.
Pan’s eyes were wide open now, and he stared in a horrified manner at the blade.
“No, no, no,” he yelled. “I won’t have it off; I won’t have it off.”
“Hold the wrist tight,” said Syd.
Rogers obeyed, and with the boy shrieking horribly, the point of the knife was inserted and his sleeve ripped right up to the shoulder.
“Hah!” exclaimed Syd, closing his knife, as he caught sight of the wound in the thick of the arm. “It has not bled much. Hold the light here more closely.”
“No, no,” yelled Pan. “I won’t have it off.”