“Me make foot feel no pain,” said Ottiby as he took the roots and rolled them into a compact mass. This he wet in the river and then he pounded the fibers with a wooden club he had picked up in the woods. When he had the roots into a sort of rude plaster he laid it on Jerry’s foot, over the wound.
“So like Indians do,” Ottiby said. “Wait while then can cut and no feel.”
“It feels as if my foot was going to sleep.”
“Then the stuff is working,” remarked Mr. Snodgrass. “We’ll wait a while longer and then I’ll take the arrow head out. I’m glad we rescued Ottiby.”
As a test of the power of the Indian’s medicine the professor, after waiting a while longer, stuck a pin in Jerry’s foot near the wound.
“Then I’ll operate,” announced Mr. Snodgrass. Jerry closed his eyes as he did not like to see the action of the knife. In a few minutes the scientist announced that it was all over and that the arrow head was out. He showed it to Jerry, and an ugly enough weapon it was.
“I hope it isn’t poisonous,” remarked Jerry.
“Not much danger of that, I think,” said Mr. Snodgrass. “If there was ever poison on it the stuff has lost its power, for the head must have lain on the ground for a hundred years or more. Now I’d like to have some healing medium with which to bind up the wound. I wonder if Ottiby knows of some herbs I might use.”
He inquired of the Indian, explaining as well as he could what was wanted. The chief nodded his head, and once more disappeared in the woods. He was not gone so long this time, and, when he returned he had a bunch of leaves. These he bruised up and bound on Jerry’s foot.
“How do you feel?” asked the professor when the rude dressing had been applied.
“It’s beginning to pain some, but I can stand it.”
“The numbing effect of the roots is wearing off,” said the scientist. “It will hurt for a while, I expect, and then perhaps the leaves will make it better.”
“Well, we’ve had a rather strenuous afternoon,” remarked Bob, when Jerry had been comfortably propped up with cushions. “Now what’s next on the program? Supper I believe.”
“You’re not going to give anyone else a chance to vote, are you, Chunky?” cried Ned. “Never mind, I believe you’re right. Come on, and we’ll get a meal ready.”