His ankle was free.
He struggled to his feet, and there was a moment of exquisite pain as the
blood rushed through his ankle and circulation was restored to his numbed
foot. But he was able to stand, and, although limpingly, to walk. He had
been fortunate, as a matter of fact, in that no bone had been crushed. That
might well have happened with such a trap, or a ligament or tendon might
have been wrenched or torn, in which case he would have found it just about
impossible to move at all. As it was, however, he was able to get along,
though he suffered considerable pain every time he put his foot to the
ground.
It was no time, however, in which to think of discomforts so comparatively
trifling as that. When he was outside he would be able, with the other
scout's aid, to give his foot some attention, using the first aid outfit
that he always carried, as every scout should do. But now the one thing to
be done was to make good his escape.
Harry realized, as soon as he was free, that he was not by any means out of
the woods. He was still decidedly in the enemy's country, and getting out
of it promised to be a difficult and a perilous task. He was handicapped by
his lack of knowledge of the place and what little he did know was
discouraging. He had proof that human enemies were not the only ones he
had to fear.
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