“Is it far?” he said.
“To the hut? No. Do you think you can bear me to get you on my back again?”
“Yes. Going to. Look sharp!”
But as soon as the boy felt his companion take hold of his hand after restopping the water-bottle, Punch whispered, “Stop!”
“What is it? Would you like to wait a little longer?”
“No. Give me a bullet out of a cartridge.”
“A bullet? What for?”
“To bite,” said the boy with a grim smile.
Pen hesitated for a moment in doubt, looking in the boy’s smiling eyes the while. Then, as a flash of recollection of stories he had heard passed through his mind, he hastily drew a cartridge from his box, broke the little roll open, scattering the powder and setting the bullet free before passing it to his companion, who nodded in silence as he seized the piece of lead between his teeth. Then, nodding again, he raised one hand, which Pen took, and seizing one of the branches of the gnarled tree he bent it down till he got it close to his companion, and bade him hold on with all his might.
Punch’s fingers closed tightly upon the bough, which acted like a spring and helped to raise its holder sufficiently high for Pen to get him once more upon his shoulders, which he had freed from straps thrown down beside his rifle.