He recovered when they were sponging his head and cutting away the hair to get at his wound. The blood had caked and had stopped its bleeding. It must have looked gruesome, for he heard Alice and Bob discussing how they could get a doctor.
“I don’t know that it’s so bad, after all,” said Bob, after more of Carl’s crown had been washed clean, and after a little more examination he began to laugh.
“Get up!” he said. “You’re not hurt. It’s only a graze, hardly deep enough to draw blood!”
Carl looked astonished and foolish. Alice, who had been pale, but collected, gave Bob a reproachful look, sat down suddenly, and began to cry a little.
“Just a little m-more, though, and he would have been k-killed!” she stammered.
“Yes,” said Bob, more seriously, “half an inch lower, and that bullet might have done for you. How did it happen? Who could have shot at you?”
Carl gave an account of his adventure. As soon as he learned that his deadly wound was only a scratch he felt remarkably better. A good part of his collapse must have been due to pure mental effect. But it was not all imaginary; the graze of a high-powered bullet upon the top of the head was stunning enough, and when he tried to get up he found himself still weak and staggery.
“But I’ve found a superb place for another bee-yard,” he told them. “I don’t think it’s more than three miles from here, and there’s enough raspberry and basswood there for the bees to work themselves to death. It would be a gold mine to us. We ought to move half the bees over there at once.”
CHAPTER V
FAILING HOPES
Next day Carl was still feeling unsteady and ill, but on the following morning he felt well enough to guide Bob to the new apiary site, and the two boys went off together. They returned full of enthusiasm.