"I'm afraid I can't stand it," I said. "But there's a knife
somewhere around these clothes, and if I can find it, perhaps you
can cut the leather."

As I gave her the knife she turned it over, examining it with a
peculiar expression, bewilderment rather than surprise. But she
said nothing. She set to work deftly, and in a few minutes the bag
dropped free.

"That's better," I declared, sitting up. "Now, if you can pin my
sleeve to my coat, it will support the arm so we can get away from
here."

"The pin might give," she objected, "and the jerk would be terrible."
She looked around, puzzled; then she got up, coming back in a minute
with a draggled, partly scorched sheet. This she tore into a large
square, and after she had folded it, she slipped it under the broken
arm and tied it securely at the back of my neck.

The relief was immediate, and, picking up the sealskin bag, I walked
slowly beside her, away from the track.

The first act was over: the curtain fallen. The scene was "struck."



CHAPTER IX

THE HALCYON BREAKFAST