“No, of course not. Here, give me that jacket again, you. Let’s get it on. This is all waste of time.”
He winced a good deal and looked very white; but he bravely mastered his feeling of faintness, and struggled once more into his tunic, suffering greatly, as I could see by the pallor breaking through his sun-browned skin.
“Stings a bit,” he said to me as he fastened the buttons; “but it might have been worse—eh, Val? I always was a thick-skinned fellow, and it turns out lucky now. How far is the nearest skirmisher?”
“A good thousand yards, I should say,” I replied.
“Good, and no mistake, for the distance has saved me, Val, my lad. But what’s that: over half a mile—eh? Not bad shooting, and shows they must have good rifles, bless ’em! Now then, hand me that cartridge-belt, and I should be glad if you’d pass it over my head, for I’m not very ready to move.”
“You will have to let the doctor see the place,” I said as I extended the bandolier so as to pass it over his head.
“Doctor? Faugh! What do I want with a doctor for this? I’m going to keep quiet, my lad, or the doctor and the Colonel between them will be wanting to invalid me.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed sharply.
“Hullo!” he cried. “Don’t say you’ve got it too, lad!”
“No, no. Look here,” I said, and I held out the cartridge-belt to show where a case was flattened—the brass exterior and the bullet within—while the spring-like holder was broken, and the leather beneath sprayed with lead.