“Yes; let’s look,” said Dickenson: and after planting a sentry to keep a sharp lookout from a sheltered spot on each side of the little woodland patch, he set to work, with the sergeant’s help, to carefully examine his rescued comrade, but without the slightest result, save finding that his head was a good deal swollen in one part, and, lower down, his left shoulder was puffed up, and apparently excessively tender from either a blow or wrench.
“It’s beyond us,” said Dickenson, with a sigh. “We’ll make a start now, and get him into the doctor’s hands.”
“Yes, sir; we might make a start now,” said the sergeant. “Wait a few minutes, sir, while I saddle up the ponies. I’ll be quite ready before you call the sentries, sir.”
“I’ll try and wake Mr Lennox, then,” said Dickenson, “and we’ll get him on to the pony first.”
“I wouldn’t, sir, if you’ll excuse me,” said the sergeant. “If he’s half-insensible like that from a
hurt to his head, it’ll be best to let him wake up of himself.”
“Perhaps so,” said the young officer; “but I don’t like his being so stupefied as this.”
The preparations were soon made, and the sergeant led the horses together, just as Dickenson rose from Lennox’s side, took out his glass, and joined the sentry on their side.
“Can you make out anything?” he said.