“Yes, Sergeant, I’ve got it this time,” said the man grimly.
“Well, I’m sorry, my lad, for I never saw a gun better served than yours was to-day. Bullet in the back?”
“Two,” said the man slowly. “I was hit twice before we got to the middle of the river.”
The wounds were painful, but they were superficial, the bullets having glanced from the rib-bones, and with care it only meant a fortnight in hospital, as Dick was able to announce; and while he was busy over the bandaging, the sergeant looked on, frowning. Hanson bore what must have been intense pain without flinching, and the young officer mused as he worked upon the strange accident which had brought this man completely helpless under his hands.
He was just finishing when Wyatt returned, to approach the beds and speak a word or two with each of the wounded.
“Painful, but not serious,” he said, repeating Dick’s words. “I’m very glad, my lads, for we can’t spare you.”
He laid his hand on Dick’s shoulder, and walked with him to the window.
“Thank you, my lad,” he said gravely. “We must drop the boy now, Dick, and accept this big responsibility.”
“We?” said Dick.
“Yes, we! I’ve got the burden of all this suddenly thrust upon my shoulders, and I feel that I must have help. Hulton will be fit for nothing this side of a month.”