"Oh, Wolf Ear!" she sobbed, in tones that brought tears to more than one eye among the bronzed troopers, "do not die! I love you, next to Brint and papa and mamma——"
Among the silent troopers touched by the scene was the sharpshooter who had brought Wolf Ear low. He was a brave, rugged soldier, but, like most men, had a tender heart. He had not spoken for some minutes, and his eyes were moist as he swung his foot from his stirrup and over the haunch of his horse to the ground.
"Jim Budworth don't often make a miss," he said in a broken voice, "and I didn't miss this fellow; but then I didn't aim to kill him, and I don't believe I did. I know a little about surgery myself—so let me take a look at Wolf Ear, as you call him."
Wondering at the words of the sharpshooter, and hardly daring to hope he was right, all watched him as he made what may be called a medical examination of the sufferer. The bullet had struck him in the side, and evidently had inflicted the wound intended.
"Injins are tough," remarked Budworth, "and this one is as tough as the rest. He isn't going to die. Here, Wolf Ear, try this."
As he spoke, the trooper held a flask of spirits to the lips of the young Indian and forced him to swallow some of it. It produced an immediate effect; and, to the astonishment of everyone, Wolf Ear assumed a sitting position and looked round with a smile.
"I feel better—much better, thank you," he said, with a grateful look at Budworth.
"Of course you do. It was a narrow chance for you, no mistake; but all you want is careful nursing, and I reckon Mrs. Kingsland here will be glad to give it you."
"Indeed I will," said the delighted woman; "there is nothing that I will not do for Wolf Ear. Can it be possible that he is going to get well after all?"
"Of course it is; I know all about Injins."