“Well, no sword-cuts?”
“Worse ones—made by scythes.”
“I’ve got you this time! No holes made by bullets?”
“No: but I went with him once to see a poor fellow who had had an iron rod driven through one arm.”
“Bravo, old fellow—Well, has he quieted down?” This to Hulton, who was coming away from the cell door.
“I’ve sent for the doctor.”
Chapter XV.
Wyatt’s Old Father.
The prisoner’s injury proved to be so slight, and his conduct so bad upon his being brought before his officers and those of the other regiments in barracks, that at last it was decided that a severe punishment must now follow the many breaches of discipline of which he had been guilty; and the sentence was no more than might have been expected, for in those days there was less hesitation over meting out punishment in the army than there is now.
Dick shuddered when he heard it, and Wyatt looked at him grimly.