They weren't afraid, a particle, either of them; but I was the one who had shot the arrow, and all I could say was: "It isn't barbed. You can pull it out." "Yes, and I'll get blood poisonin', mebbe," snarled the man. He kept us covered with his revolver muzzle. "You git!" he ordered. With his other hand he worked at the arrow and pulled it out easily. The point was red, but not very far up. "You'd better cut your trousers open, over that wound," called Scout Van Sant. "Did you have on colored underdrawers?" "None o' your business," snarled the man. "You git, all of you." "Wait a minute. Don't use that old handkerchief," spoke Scout Ward. And away he ran for the packs. They were very busy Scouts, those two, and right up to snuff. The arrow wound seemed to interest them. He came back, and I saw what he had. "Here," he called; "if you'll promise not to grab me I'll come and dress that in first-class shape. You're liable to have an infection, from dirt." "I'll infect _you_, if I ketch you," snarled the man, fingering his wounded leg and dividing his glances between it and us. "Well, if you won't promise, I'll lay this on this rock," continued Scout Ward, as cool as you please. "You ought to cut the cloth away from that wound; then you dissolve this bichloride of mercury tablet in a quart of water, and flush that hole out thoroughly; then you moisten a pad of this cloth in the water and bind it on the hole with this surgical bandage. See?" (Note 46.) "I'll bind you on a hole, if I ketch you," snarled the man. That hole ached, I reckon. But Scout Ward advanced and laid the first-aid stuff on a stone about ten feet from the man, so that he could crawl and get it. "Now hadn't you better give us that message? It's no good to you, and it's done you harm enough," said Scout Van Sant. "Give you nothin', except a dose of lead, if you don't git out pronto," snarled the man. "You git! Hear me? GIT! If you weren't kids, you'd git something else beside jes' git. But I'm not goin' to tell you many more times. GIT!" The Red Fox Patrol Scouts looked at me and I looked at them, and we agreed--for the man was growing angrier and angrier. There was no sense in badgering him. A fellow must use discretion, you know. "All right; we'll 'git,'" answered Scout Ward. "But we'll keep on your trail till you turn over that message. You've no business with it." The man just growled, and as we turned away he began to pull his trouser-leg up further and to fuss with his dirty sock and his pink underdrawers there. Those were no things to have about an open wound. "You'd better use that first-aid wash and bandage," called back Scout Ward. We went to the packs and the Red Fox Patrol Scouts slung them on. They wouldn't let me carry one. We didn't know exactly what to do, now: whether to go on and wait, or wait here, while we watched. Only--