The Indian nodded.
Mandy lifted the foot up.
“Broken, I should say.”
The Indian uttered not a sound.
“Run,” she continued. “Bring a pail of water and get a fire going.”
Allan was soon back with the pail of water.
“Me—water,” moaned the Indian, pointing to the pail. Allan held it to his lips and he drank long and deep. In a short time the fire was blazing and the tea pail slung over it.
“If I only had my kit here!” said Mandy. “This torn flesh and skin ought to be all cut away.”
“Oh, I say, Mandy, you can't do that. We'll get the Police doctor!” said Allan in a tone of horrified disgust.
But Mandy was feeling the edge of the Indian's knife.