"Never! Desecrate the couch of Graustark's ruler? I, the poor goat-hunter? I'll use the lion for a pillow and the rock for an operating table. In ten minutes my men can have these scratches dressed and bound—in fact, there is a surgical student among them, poor fellow. I think I am his first patient. Ravone, attend me."
He threw himself upon the ground and calmly placed his head upon the body of the animal.
"I insist upon your taking these cushions," cried Beverly.
"And I decline irrevocably." She stared at him in positive anger. "Trust Ravone to dress these trifling wounds, your highness. He may not be as gentle, but he is as firm as any princess in all the world."
"But your arm?" she cried. "Didn't you say it was your legs? Your arm is covered with blood, too. Oh, dear me, I'm afraid you are frightfully wounded."
"A stray bullet from one of my men struck me there, I think. You know there was but little time for aiming—?"
"Wait! Let me think a minute! Good heavens!" she exclaimed with a start. Her eyes were suddenly filled with tears and there was a break in her voice. "I shot you! Don't deny it—don't! It is the right arm, and your men could not have hit it from where they stood. Oh, oh, oh!"
Baldos smiled as he bared his arm. "Your aim was good," he admitted. "Had not my knife already been in the lion's heart, your bullet would have gone there. It is my misfortune that my arm was in the way. Besides, your highness, it has only cut through the skin—and a little below, perhaps. It will be well in a day or two, I am sure you will find your bullet in the carcass of our lamented friend, the probable owner of this place."
Ravone, a hungry-looking youth, took charge of the wounded leader, while her highness retreated to the farthest corner of the cavern. There she sat and trembled while the wounds were being dressed. Aunt Fanny bustled back and forth, first unceremoniously pushing her way through the circle of men to take observations, and then reporting to the impatient girl. The storm had passed and the night was still, except for the rush of the river; raindrops fell now and then from the trees, glistening like diamonds as they touched the light from the cavern's mouth. It was all very dreary, uncanny and oppressive to poor Beverly. Now and then she caught herself sobbing, more out of shame and humiliation than in sadness, for had she not shot the man who stepped between her and death? What must he think of her?
"He says yo' all 'd betteh go to baid, Miss Bev—yo' highness," said Aunt Fanny after one of her trips.