“You fainted. Are you better now?”
“Some people do faint at the sight of a drop of blood,” said a familiar voice, followed by a sneering laugh.
It was medicine to Syd, and he felt better directly, and sat up.
“Give me my jacket and things,” he said; and paying no heed to Terry, who was standing close by the two men who had been placed over him, busily helping with the rough tent they were fitting over the lieutenant, he walked to his patient, to find him lying so passive that he shuddered, and wondered whether the poor fellow was dead.
“Did I do wrong?” Syd asked himself. “Would he have got better if I had left him alone?”
He felt his ignorance terribly as he asked himself these questions; but the answer was ready for utterance as Roylance said, looking white as he spoke—
“Oh, Belt, old fellow, what a horrible job to have to do!” And then, “Would he have got right without?”
“No. If he had gone on bleeding from that artery he would by now have been a dead man.”
“But how did you learn all that? The lads can do nothing else but talk about it.”
“Hush! come away,” said Syd. “Let him sleep, and”—he shuddered—“let one of the men bring me a bucket of water.”