But as the doctor busily did what was necessary to the frightful wound, a slight quivering about the eyelids announced that life still lingered, and as the busy hands checked all further effusion and administered a restorative, the failing spirit’s flight was for the time being stayed, though whether this would be permanent was more than the Hakim dared to say.
“He must have been bleeding all the night,” the doctor said, “and jolting about on a horse. The man’s constitution is wonderful, or he would have died long before now.”
“Can you save him?” asked the professor.
“I fear not, but I’ll do all I can. Ask the men how this happened, Ibrahim.”
The information was soon obtained.
“It was in a skirmish, Hakim, a day’s journey from here. The men who joined us last night came in contact with a body of mounted men armed with spears, and from their description they seem to have been English troops. Many of the Baggara were killed, others wounded, and this man, their leader, was as you see. He will die, Excellency, will he not?”
“It all depends on the way in which he is treated,” replied the doctor. “He is in a dying state, but no dangerous part is touched. I may save his life.”
“It would be a miracle, Excellency,” said the Sheikh slowly. “Look: there is a dark cloud coming over his face.”
“No,” said the doctor gravely; “that is because the spirit in him is so low. He is falling into a sleep that is almost death, but he still lives. Tell these men that he is not to be moved, and that their chief must send a tent here to place over him. Let two of your men come now to spread a cloth above him to keep off the sun until the tent is set up.”
The message was given, and the men hurried away to rejoin their people, while in a very few minutes the Baggara chief and his companion appeared, walking hurriedly, and made their way to the side of the wounded man, to look at him anxiously and as if his condition was a great trouble to them, the elder going down on one knee to lay a hand upon the sufferer’s brow.