'Sure enough,' nodded the Raven. 'I thought it wor' a pounder at the least. He's nigh on bit my finger through.' Dick had his patrol staff in hand: he thrust it up the hole and tried to poke the rat out. But the hole twisted among the roots, and was a safe fortress for its wily defender. 'Well, I've done all the gropin' I want, this time,' remarked Chippy, washing his finger in the stream. 'Yes, we must be off again,' said Dick, and began slowly to wade towards the bank where their shoes and stockings lay. Suddenly he started and picked up one foot. 'Ah!' cried Dick, 'that was sharp, and no mistake.' 'Wot's the matter?' called out Chippy, approaching him. 'Trod on something sharp,' said Dick. 'I should think yer did,' cried the Raven; 'look at yer foot. We must see to this.' Dick looked, and saw the clear water stained with blood as it swept past his foot. He bent down and looked at the bed of the stream. 'Confound it all,' he said, 'it's the end of a broken bottle I've trodden on. No wonder it warmed me up a bit. Somebody's chucked it into the brook as they passed.' The boys scrambled to the bank, and there Dick's wound was examined. It was on the outer side of the right heel, not long, but deep, for the broken bottle had thrust a sharp splintered point upwards, and the cut bled very freely. They washed it well in the cold water until the blood ceased to flow, then rubbed plenty of the mutton-fat in, for that was the only kind of ointment they had. 'Quite sure theer's no salt in this?' asked Chippy. ''Cos salt 'ud be dangerous.' 'Quite sure,' replied Dick. 'I boiled it down myself. It's pure fat.' Chippy looked anxious. 'It's frightful awk'ard a cut in yer foot,' he said. 'How are ye goin' to march, Dick?' 'Oh, I'll march all right,' said Dick. 'I wish, though, it had been my finger, like yours, Chippy.' The Raven nodded. 'True for you,' he said, 'ye don't ha' to tramp on yer hands.' They bound up the cut in a strip torn from a handkerchief, got into their stockings and shoes, and went forward. Dick declared that his cut gave him little or no pain, but Chippy still looked uneasy. He knew that the time for trouble was ahead, when the cut would stiffen. CHAPTER XLVII THE LAST CAMP 'We'll never see Wildcombe Chase to-night, Chippy,' said Dick, as they stepped along. 'Not likely,' was the reply; 'we've a-lost too much time for that. An' now theer's that cut. What I say is this: let's mek' an early camp an' give yer foot a good rest. P'raps it'll feel better in the mornin'.' 'It isn't very bad now,' said Dick, 'only a little sore.' 'H'm,' grunted Chippy, 'so ye say. I know wot a deep cut like that means. We'll rest it as soon as we can.'