“Oh, only a deep scratch, and there’s nothing else the matter. Her arms will be all right to-morrow. We must get the chain off her leg, though.”
I showed him the hacksaw.
“Good! Can you tackle that job now while I get some food for her?”
“Yes. But I shall want you to hold the ring steady while I saw it. We want something under it, too; a towel will do.”
He reached for a towel he had been using, and the girl, who had been listening to us, asked me if he was going to do my face.
“Presently,” said I. “But first of all we’re going to get that ring off your leg. Then we’ll give you some food and something warm to drink. After that you must try and tell us what happened to you and where you live. Now keep your leg still. We shan’t hurt.”
Forsyth turned back the end of the blanket and wrapped a twisted towel round her ankle, pushing it up under the ring. Then he held the ring steady, and I got to work. The iron was soft, and the hacksaw went through it with no trouble. A bit of a wrench at the cut ends and it pulled open enough to let me slip her ankle—a particularly slim neat one—through it.
“Well, now I’ll get her some food. I’ve told Firoz to bring boiling water, and I’ve got a bottle of bovril here. The rest will have to be chupattis and tinned stuff. We’re not exactly equipped for hospital feeding.” Forsyth went out and shouted for Firoz.
“You must try and eat, even if you’re not feeling hungry,” said I. “We may have to go a long way to-morrow, I expect.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, looking at me anxiously.