He had hardly spoken when the men below fired a little volley across the gully, and then there was a cheer.
“That’s scut ’em to the right-about, sir. We’ve dropped two,” cried one of the men, and they crept back under the dense cover to where Ned lay.
The doctor had seized his gun, but he laid it down again, and took out a keen-bladed knife.
“Thought you wasn’t going to cut out the head, sir?” said Ned faintly.
“I am not,” replied the doctor.
“Oh, don’t you mind me, sir. I tell you I won’t shout. You do what’s right. I know it must come out; but I’d take it kindly, Mr Jack, sir, if you’d lay hold of my hand. Cheer a fellow up a bit. Go on, doctor; I’m game.”
“That you are, my lad,” said the doctor, and kneeling behind the sufferer he took hold of the long arrow, which had completely transfixed the fleshy part of the arm, and snapped it sharply in two on the side where it had entered, then in an instant he had drawn the head portion right out of the wound in the same way in which it was driven.
“That’s the way, sir. Don’t you be afraid to cut,” said Ned sturdily, but with his eyes shut. “I’ll bear it; but I didn’t know you’d got a red-hot poker up here to dress the wound with.—What! have you got it out?”
“Yes. Take hold of these pieces, Lenny.”
“Well, you have been quick, sir. My word, it was a stinger—just like as if twenty thousand wasps was at you. Eh! going to bind it up?”