The other shots had grazed his arm and head; the latter
had stunned him for a time, but did no deeper damage.
He lay still for a long time, in hopes that some of his friends
might come. He tried to raise his voice, but had no strength.
Then he remembered the smoke signal that had saved him when he
was lost in the woods. In spite of his wounded arm, he got out
his flint and steel, and prepared to make a fire. But all the
small wood he could reach was wet with recent rains. An old pine
stump was on the bank not far away; he might cut kindling-wood
from that to start his fire, and he reached for his knife. Alas!
its case was empty. Had Rolf been four years younger, he might
have broken down and wept at this. It did seem such an
unnecessary accumulation of disasters. Without gun or knife, how
was he to call his friends?
He straightened his mangled limb in the position of least pain
and lay for a while. The September sun fell on his back and
warmed him. He was parched with thirst, but only thirty yards
away was a little rill. With a long and fearful crawling on his
breast, he dragged himself to the stream and drank till he could
drink no more, then rested, washed his head and hands, 'and tried
to crawl again to the warm place.
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