In a few moments she heard his voice calling.
“Come along! Hurry up!”
A young Indian lad of about seventeen, ghastly under his copper skin and faint from loss of blood, lay with his ankle held in a powerful wolf-trap, a bloody knife at his side. With a cry Mandy was off her horse and beside him, the instincts of the trained nurse rousing her to action.
“Good Heavens! What a mess!” cried Cameron, looking helplessly upon the bloody and mangled leg.
“Get a pail of water and get a fire going, Allan,” she cried. “Quick!”
“Well, first this trap ought to be taken off, I should say.”
“Quite right,” she cried. “Hurry!”
Taking his ax from their camp outfit, he cut down a sapling, and, using it as a lever, soon released the foot.
“How did all this mangling come?” said Mandy, gazing at the limb, the flesh and skin of which were hanging in shreds about the ankle.
“Cutting it off, weren't you?” said Allan.