“Here, here, what is the trouble?” burst in the voice of a surgeon, as he strode up. “We allow no quarreling in this ward.”
“This rascal has been trying to bribe me into helping him to escape,” answered Dave, his eyes flashing. “He wanted me to get him an English uniform on the sly.”
“What! Is this true?” ejaculated the surgeon. “If it is, he deserves a flogging instead of medical care.”
“No! no!” shrieked Jean Bevoir. “It ees all von gran’ mistake.” He hurriedly stowed the gold in his bosom. “How can I escape ven I haf ze shot in ze leg——”
“It is getting better fast,” responded the surgeon. “I fancy we had better keep an eye on you, and by the end of the week I’ll pass you over to the prison guard for safe keeping.”
“I hope you do, sir,” said Dave. “He is a great criminal as well as a prisoner of war,” and he told a few of the particulars of Jean Bevoir’s doings.
“I am glad you did not let him tempt you,” said the surgeon. “He is certainly a rascal of the first water. But I don’t want you to talk to him any longer. A quarrel will only excite the other patients here,” and he led the way from the building. As he was going out, Dave looked back to see what Bevoir was doing. The French trader scowled at him and shook his fist in rage.
“He will hate me worse than ever for this,” reasoned the young soldier. “But I am glad I showed him up to the surgeon. It would be a great pity if he was allowed to slip away unnoticed.”