A few minutes later the scarf was retied from the shoulder so that the wounded arm rested comfortably and free from pain, the Baggara smiling at his leech as he rose, and in an instant a tremendous shout rent the air.
Chapter Seventeen.
The Surgeon’s Fee.
The Hakim’s patient was evidently a man of stern determination—of iron will; but he was only human after all, and he turned slowly to his brother chief, to lay his uninjured hand upon his shoulder to support himself, evidently making a brave effort to master the almost inevitable consequences of the long operation.
But Morris was watching him keenly, and quite prepared. A few words to Frank resulted in a small glass of water being placed in his hand in company with a bottle and graduated measure; a small quantity of a colourless fluid was transferred to the glass, and the Hakim rose and walked with dignified pace to where the two chiefs stood, the younger scowling fiercely now as he saw that his companion was beginning to totter upon his legs and swaying slightly as if to fall.
But the Hakim paid no heed to his fierce glances, and held the glass to his patient.
“Bibe,” he said, in a tone of command, using medical Latin in preference to English.
At the sound of his voice the Baggara, whose countenance had turned of a peculiar, muddy hue, revived and turned to him sharply, saw, and stretched out his hand eagerly for the glass, but shrank back directly with a look of suspicion.