He nodded again, and began to unroll the long strip of cotton stuff round his hand and wrist. It took a long time, and at last he had to go down to the water and bathe the stiffened rag before it would come away. Then he came back to Norah and held it out again—a long, hideous gash right up the wrist, torn and swollen and inflamed.
"Oh!" said Norah, drawing back a pace, instinctively. "You poor fellow! How did you do it?"
"Barb wire," said the Indian, simply. "Three days. Him bad. Ram Das, him say you help." With this stupendous effort of eloquence he became speechless again, still holding the torn wrist out to her.
"I should think so!" said Norah, forgetting everything in the sight of that cruel wound. "Come on up to the house quickly!" She turned to lead the way, but the man shook his head.
"Woman there," he stammered.
"It's all right," Norah told him. "Come along."
"Small dog," said the Hindu, unhappily. "Them afraid of me." He pointed towards the house. "Been there."
"Oh-h!" said Norah, suddenly comprehending. She knew Mary. Then she laughed. "You come with me; it's all right." She led the way, and the hawker followed her. A few yards further on, Norah bethought herself of something, and turned back.
"You must have that covered up," she told him. "No, not with that awful rag again," with a faint shudder. She took out her handkerchief and wrapped it lightly round the man's wrist. "That'll do for the present—come on."
Puck, still in a state of profound indignation in the back yard, was thrown into a paroxysm of fury at the sight of his enemy returning. Norah had to chain him up before the Hindu would come inside the gate. Then she led the way to the kitchen and called Mary.