“Well?” he asked.
“I can tell you nothing yet,” replied the doctor. “The poor fellow is in fearful agony, but I was able to act so quickly that I have hope. It’s a terrible position, though; you see. I am in total ignorance of the poison used.”
Almost as they spoke, the trampling of horses and the lumbering of the gun-wheels was heard in the distance.
Dick uttered a sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness,” he said. “But we shan’t be many now, and it does seem such a piece of impudence for us, a mere handful of Englishmen, to take so much upon ourselves as we do.”
“Knowledge is power, my dear Darrell,” said the doctor. “It must always have been so since the world began, that the man who knew most took the lead. You soldiers, with your discipline and weapons, can attack and thrash twenty times your number.”
“I suppose so,” said Dick, smiling; “and you as a surgeon can laugh at twenty of the native doctors.”
“Well, I don’t want to brag, Darrell,” replied the doctor, “but I think I could save twenty men’s lives while they saved one. Yes, knowledge is power. I don’t suppose they would own openly to my being the better man, but they’d rather trust me than one of their fellows. They can’t help looking up to us. But I’m glad the troop has come, for I’ve felt during the last half-hour that my throat was not safe.”
“Why?” said Dick. “You’re a non-combatant.”
“Pooh! What do they care about non-combatants? Some mad enthusiast or another might have accused me of poisoning the Rajah after seeing me give the poor fellow a dose of antidote.”