“You see it is as I say—the ball has passed quite through his head, and come out here,” said Francis Tredegar.
“Impossible! The ball entered the right side of the chest, passed through the right lobe of the lungs, and is lodged here below the right shoulder-blade. See for yourself!” said the surgeon, laying back Alexander’s shirt-bosom, so as to show the small, dark, inverted hole at which the bullet had entered.
“But this wound in the back of his head—?”
“Was made by his falling and striking some hard, sharp substance—a fragment of rock, probably.”
While the surgeon spoke he was not idle. He took his case of instruments from one assistant and the water from the other.
He carefully cut away the blood-clotted hair, and washed and plastered the wound in the head; and then he cut out the bullet, which lay little more than skindeep under the shoulder blade. He dressed the wounds as well as circumstances would permit, and then he said;
“We had better take your friend back to his apartments at the hotel. I will continue to give him my best care there.”
Francis Tredegar assented.
Simms was once more despatched to the hut to borrow its only door and when he returned he not only brought the door, but was followed by the kind-hearted master of the hut, bringing a load of blankets. With these materials a rude litter was constructed, and upon it Alexander’s form was laid. And thus he was borne upon the shoulders of Simms the valet, Knox the hutter, and two laboring men who came and offered their services.
Prince Ernest returned to the hotel in his carriage. Major Zollenhoffar and Francis Tredegar walked behind the bearers of the wounded man.