As they rode over, Mayne had given the doctor full particulars, about the panther affair,—including the bites, and scratches.
"There may be poison in them," said Dr. Hicks; "these old panthers eat garbage, and putrid carcases, and are nasty brutes to deal with; and if septic poison sets in, Travers is rather a bad subject, and it may go hard with him. However," he added philosophically, "there is no use meeting trouble half way, and whatever happens, we must keep a cheerful face before Nancy. There's a good, single-hearted child, if ever there was one, and if by any chance, she were to lose her father—mind you, I'm not saying there is a chance—I don't know what would become of her!"
CHAPTER IX
"GIVE NANCY TO ME!"
Having examined his patient, Dr. Hicks came out into the verandah in order to confer with Mayne. His face was alarmingly grave, and he spoke with his eyes anxiously fixed on the communicating doors,—and in a lowered voice.
"He's pretty bad; high fever, temperature 104; his arm is frightfully swelled—it's the bite. I am sending for a nurse and vaccine, also for my wife. She's uncommonly capable, and always comes well up to scratch on these occasions, and of course, we must have some woman here to look after Nancy—in case of"—he hesitated for a second, and added—"delirium and complications."
"You don't mean to say it's as serious as all that?" cried Mayne, aghast.
"I'm afraid it is; but I'll move heaven and earth to pull Travers through. We can spare anyone, sooner than the Earl,—as we call him."
"Can't I go some message, or be of some use? For God's sake give me a job," and Mayne paused, half choked. "You see, it was through saving me, that Travers is like this!"