He picked up his rifle, helped Loudon to stand erect, and passed an arm around his waist. So, hopping on one foot, Loudon reached the shelter of the shack wall. Laguerre eased him to the ground and skipped nimbly down past the corral.
"Mabbeso I geet dat feller," he called over his shoulder. "Be back soon."
Laguerre returned in five minutes.
"Dat feller she geet clean away," he said, disconsolately. "Nevair touch heem. By gar! Eef I not have run so hard, I shoot better. Geet heem shore den."
"Pull my boot off, will yuh, Telescope?" requested Loudon, extending his leg.
Laguerre pulled. Loudon gritted his teeth. The pain was sharp, nauseating.
"It's no good," said Loudon, thickly. "Got to cut the boot off."
Laguerre whipped out his knife and slit the leather from instep to top. Gently he removed the boot. Loudon peeled off the sock. The ankle was badly swollen.
"Wiggle de toe," commanded Laguerre.
Loudon wriggled his toes and was able to move his ankle slightly, not without a deal of pain, however. He noted with thankfulness that the pain was continuous, and not stabbing as it is when a bone is involved.