"Yes, Clary, go ahead, and stay as long as you're needed," was the kindly answer.
"Is it to your room I'll be takin' him, sor?" asked Clary, rising and holding his burden across his breast.
"Of course, and place him on my bed. Corporal Duffey, send a man for the surgeon and hospital steward, and send another with the pony to the stable."
It was too dark to take in details, but I noticed Chiquita was utterly exhausted, and that she was covered with foam. Following Clary to my room, I saw, when the light fell upon Henry's face, that his right cheek and neck were bleeding, and that his left arm hung unnaturally limp by the bearer's side.
We placed him upon the bed, and Surgeon Coues, who had now arrived and pronounced the boy to be simply in a faint from loss of blood and over-exertion, applied restoratives and brought him back to consciousness. As Henry's eyelids raised, and he recognized me, he said, weakly:
"Oh, Mr. Duncan, tell Captain Bayard the Indians have attacked Mr. Arnold's ranch, and that Mrs. Arnold is dead!"
"Indians attacked the ranch! When?"
"About four o'clock."
"Don't know. Seemed as if there were over a hundred. And don't stop to worry over me. Don't stop an instant—these scratches are nothing—but send the soldiers, quick, or Brenda and all will be killed!"