"I guess so. Here goes your blouse, Oscar." Tex attempted to tear strips from the garment, then gave up. "Golly, that stuff is tough. Gimme your knife, Matt."
Ten minutes later Oscar was adequately splinted and bandaged, with what remained of his blouse rigged as a sling. Tex took off his own blouse and sat down on it, for the turf was damp and the day was hot and muggy as only Venus can be. "That's done," he said, "and the skipper hasn't blinked an eye. That leaves you holding the sack, Oz-when do we have lunch?"
"A fine question, that." Oscar wrinkled his brows. "First, let's see what we've got to work with. Turn out your pouches."
Matt had his knife. Oscar's pouch contained nothing of significance. Tex contributed his harmonica. Oscar looked worried. "Fellows, do you suppose I'm justified in looking through Mr. Thurlow's pouch?"
"I think you ought to," said Tex. "I've never seen anybody stay out so long." t
"I agree," added Matt. "I think we had better admit he s got a concussion and assume that he's going to be out of the running for a while. Go ahead, Oscar."
Thurlow's pouch contained some personal items that they skipped over quickly, the orders to the expedition, and a second knife-which had set in its handle a small, ornamental, magnetic compass. "Golly, I'm glad to find that item. I've been wondering how we would ever find our way back to this spot without natives to guide us."
"Who wants to?" asked Tex. "It doesn't seem to have any attractions for me."
"The jeep is here."
"And the Triplex is somewhere over your head. One is about as close as the other-to a pedestrian, meaning me."