“If his Excellency looks yonder,” said the old Sheikh drily, “he will find that it is not for curing one wounded man. The great Hakim’s fame is spreading fast.”
“One, two, three, four—why, there must be over twenty patients coming, Bob!” cried the professor, looking quite aghast. “You’ve got to do your best now, old fellow, and no mistake. But they can’t be all chiefs.”
The professor was well within bounds in saying twenty, for coming slowly on, for the most part walking, but several on horse or camel, and in more than one case supported by companions, came the whole of the sick and injured of the tribe, the Hakim’s treatment of their chief having brought those who had suffered during their wandering raid in the desert; and the calmness for a few moments deserted the Hakim’s countenance.
But he was soon himself again, and ready for what he saw at a glance must be a long and heavy task—one that would call forth all his energies.
“It is fortunate that I am a surgeon, and not a doctor pure and simple,” he said quietly, “for these seem to be all injuries received in fight. Come, Frank, Landon, our work is waiting.”
“Yes,” said the professor. “You, Sam, look after the commissariat department.”
“The which, sir?” said the man, staring.
“Well, the provisions, and clear away—for action, eh, Frank?”
“Yes, and it’s fortunate that the Hakim has had his breakfast.”