Soon the man called for came running from the darkness and dropped beside the chief. He carried on his person a leather case, containing some instruments and bandages, and he began at once to look after the wound by the light of the camp fire.
“What was the firing I heard, Ruteni?” asked the chief.
“Some one succeeded in passing the guards at the entrance to the valley, chief.”
“Succeeded?” said Donatus, as if he could not believe it. “How many of them?”
“Only one. He was crawling on his stomach like a serpent when they saw him and fired. He sprang up and ran.”
“Into the valley?”
“Into the valley, chief. But he is only one, and he cannot escape. They will capture him.”
“Who could it be? Who would dare attempt such a thing? Ruteni, how badly am I wounded?”
“I fear it is serious,” was the answer.
Water had been brought, and a few of Donatus’ band were watching the work of Ruteni, seeming benumbed and dazed by what had happened. The chief saw them and said: