"Who did it? What does it mean? But presently--presently. Your arms!"
Turning, she sought to untie the knots. They were too firm, the rope too coarse, for her little fingers.
"My knife--coat pocket," murmured Warrender.
In a trice she found the knife; even its keen blade she had to use as a saw before the bonds were severed. Warrender got up, stiffly. He stretched his aching arms, shook himself, stamped his feet.
"I can't thank you enough," he said, the words coming hoarsely through his parched lips.
"But who had the wickedness----? Never mind; tell me presently. What can I do? There is something--something terrible, I know. What can I do to help?"
"Will you row me to our camp? As we go, I shall be able to explain. My voice is coming back."
"Yes, let us go. Let me help you."
She took his arm, hurried him on his cramped legs to the skiff that lay half on the bank, and, hauling this into the water, assisted him to the stern thwart. Then she turned, ran a few steps to Rush's boat, and brought from it Warrender's cap.
"But for this----" she began. "Oh, it's too horrible!"