“Go with the doctor?”
“Yes. Well, I suppose you have seen enough of them?”
“No,” said Mark; “I wanted to take Dr Robertson myself, and get him to see if he could do anything for that poor little fellow’s wound.”
“I was thinking of that myself,” said the doctor; “but from your description, Mark, I am afraid that we are too late.”
“Yes,” said Dean gravely; “I think he’s dying.”
“Why too late?” said Mark. “It’s only a wound.”
“Only a wound,” said the doctor, smiling. “It must have been a very bad one.”
“It’s horrible,” cried Dean.
“That’s why I say that I’m afraid it’s too late,” said the doctor. “These savage people, living their simple open-air life, heal up in a way that is wonderful. Nature is their great surgeon.”
“Then why didn’t this one heal up?” said Mark.