"I'm not hurt, Verslun. Get me on my feet, man.
Quick! For the love of God, quick!"
I gripped his shoulders and he managed to stand upright. The dawn came
with tropic suddenness at that moment, and I saw that he was bleeding
from a nasty wound above the right temple, while he limped painfully as
I helped him across a small cleared patch near the tree.
"I've hurt my leg," he cried, "but I'm going to get to the camp. If I
fall, Verslun, I want you to lend me a hand. Promise to help me, will
you? She--Miss Barbara, you know, old man. She is everything to me. Give
me a hand if I tumble down."
"I promise," I answered, and he wrung my hand as we started off through
the clawing, scratching vines that tripped us up as we tried to fight
our way forward.
If we had thought on the night before that the quarter mile of country
that lay between the camp and the rocky wall was a difficult stretch to
negotiate, we were more than doubly certain of its impenetrable
character now that daylight had come. How we had ever managed to get
through it in the darkness was a mystery that we tried to solve as we
attempted to make our way back.
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