He was sitting bound, as the robbers had left him.
I cut him free and he staggered to his feet.
He was sober as a jail bird, and, excepting for his broken lip and chafed wrists, he was, to all appearances, none the worse for his experiences. It surprised me to notice how little he seemed interested in the recovery of his money. All his attention and sympathy were centred on the wretched dog, Mike, who was slowly getting over the clubbing he had received and was whimpering like a discontented baby.
Mike had a long gash in his neck, evidently made by one of the robbers with Jake's bread-knife. Mary washed out the wound and I stitched it up with a needle and thread, so that, all things considered, Mike was lucky in getting out of his encounter as easily as he did.
As for the crack I had received over the head, it had made me bloody enough, but it was superficial and not worth worrying about.
I decided I would not leave Jake alone that night and that, as soon as I had seen Mary safely home, I would return and sleep in his cabin till morning.
"When you come back," said Jake gruffly, "bring ink and paper with you. I want you to do some writin' for me, George."
I laughed, for I knew what was in his mind.
As Mary and I wended our way back through the narrow path, in the dead of that moonlight night, the daring and bravery of her action caught me afresh. How I admired her! I could scarcely refrain from telling her of it, and of how I loved her. But it was neither the time nor the place for protestations of affection.
"How in the world did you happen to get down there at the right moment?" I asked.