The beast was gasping his last upon the rocky floor, the hilt of the goat hunter's dagger protruding from his side. Baldos, supported by two of his men, stood above the savage victim, his legs covered with blood. The cave was full of smoke and the smell of powder. Out of the haze she began to see the light of understanding. Baldos alone was injured. He had stood between her and the rush of the lion, and he had saved her, at a cost she knew not how great.
"Oh, the blood!" she cried hoarsely. "Is it—is it—are you badly hurt?" She was at his side, the pistol falling from her nervous fingers.
"Don't come near me; I'm all right," he cried quickly.
"Take care—your dress—"
"Oh, I'm so glad to hear you speak! Never mind the dress! You are torn to pieces! You must be frightfully hurt. Oh, isn't it terrible—horrible! Aunt Fanny! Come here this minute!"
Forgetting the beast and throwing off the paralysis of fear, she pushed one of the men away and grasped the arm of the injured man. He winced perceptibly and she felt something warm and sticky on her hands. She knew it was blood, but it was not in her to shrink at a moment like this.
"Your arm, too!" she gasped. He smiled, although his face was white with pain. "How brave you were! You might have been—I'll never forget it—never! Don't stand there, Aunt Fanny! Quick! Get those cushions for him. He's hurt."
"Good Lawd!" was all the old woman could say, but she obeyed her mistress.
"It was easier than it looked, your highness," murmured Baldos. "Luck was with me. The knife went to his heart. I am merely scratched. His leap was short, but he caught me above the knees with his claws. Alas, your highness, these trousers of mine were bad enough before, but now they are in shreds. What patching I shall have to do! And you may well imagine we are short of thread and needles and thimbles—"
"Don't jest, for heaven's sake! Don't talk like that. Here! Lie down upon these cushions and—"