Buller swore violently as he bade her, "Go ahead then, and be quick about it!"
A moment, and the mangled hand was free. Instantly, its owner listed over on the grass in a dead faint, in total darkness.
Martha felt about in the darkness for the torch, set it glowing and, by aid of its light, found a flask in Buller's pocket, some of the contents of which she forced between his lips. When he was fully conscious, she bade him pick up his belongings, and come along home with her, where she could look after his hand, and, if necessary, telephone for the doctor.
Clutching at her shoulder, he staggered to his feet.
"Don't forget your gun," warned Martha drily.
"Damn the gun!" returned Buller.
Somehow they reached the Lodge. Sam, hearing footsteps, came to the door with an anxious face.
"Martha," he whispered, before he had made out she was not alone, "hurry back to the big house. Mr. Ronald's just called you up this minute. His wife wants you, and—I'm going for the doctor."
Martha pushed Buller forward into the entry.
"Look after'm, Sam. He was on his way to give us a call. With his pistol an' a bunch o' kindlin's to fire the house. He heard me comin', an' lay low for a minute, an' got caught in the trap you set for—the other fox. But take care of'm," she said, and vanished into the night.