“I remember just such wounds in the army,” commented Freeman; “little was thought of them at first, but many a death came from their neglect.”
“His people are tough and have little faith in surgery.”
“Which may all be the case and not affect the truth of what I have stated.”
When the rude service was finished, the lieutenant said:
“Cemuri, you must go to the fort as soon as you can.”
The dusky face showed anger and the scout shook his head.
“Me no pappose—me warrior—me scout!”
“And a very good one too—so good that we want to save your services to us. I don’t believe that wound will kill you, old fellow, unless it is neglected, but it is going to lay you up for a time. You won’t be able to do yourself justice till your leg gets well, and that will take place sooner at the fort than in the saddle.”
Cemuri looked appealingly at Mendez. Why did he remain mute and not come to his relief? His opinion would have great weight.
But Mendez shook his head.