The moment, however, he found what was wrong, his surgical skill, which was not slight, was brought to bear, and the terrible gaping wounds of the poor boy were sewn up and bandaged.
Read by the light of all that Jack had to tell, it was plain enough what had befallen poor Coffee. He had been stalked, by the same lion probably as that which Jack had shot. The monster had sprung upon him, clawing his bare back and shoulder; and then, probably being surfeited with devouring some unfortunate beast, he had left the boy, and had been roused again by another intruder upon his domains, while, but for Jack’s rifle, poor Chicory would have shared his fate.
“But a’ didn’t kill Chick, Boss Jack. Boss Jack kill um, and Boss Jack and Chick go and kill all a lion now, and not leave not one.”
This was the next morning, when the events of the past night had been talked over, and Mr Rogers had expressed a hope that the boy might live.
But, as he told his sons, it was very doubtful, for he had been horribly clawed by the lion, though fortunately upon his back. Had the creature seized him in front, he must have lost his life.
All attempts at continuing the journey were of course put off, a comfortable bed being made up for Coffee where he would feel the cooling breeze and be sheltered from the sun, while his father took his place by him, and sat and kept the bandages over the wounds wet and cool.
It was Chicory who proposed that the lion’s skin should be fetched in; and after a promise to be careful, the boys started off, taking with them Peter to skin the lion, Mr Rogers feeling that he could not leave, with Coffee in such a state. In fact he hesitated about letting his sons go, after such a shock, though he could not help feeling that they were beginning to display a courage and decision that was most praiseworthy, especially as it was linked with so much self-denial.
“But the skin would be such a trophy, father,” said Jack. “I should like to have it.”
“Go and get it, then,” said Mr Rogers; “but don’t stop. You may as well shoot a few birds, though, or any small bok, if you can. We must make our beef-tea of venison, Dinny says,” he added with a smile, “for the invalid must have plenty of support.”
Jack went to have a look at poor Coffee as he lay there insensible, and softly placed his cool hand upon the poor boy’s burning head.