“Dead?” he whispered in awe-stricken tones, as he gazed down pityingly at the wasted object before him.
“As near to it as he can be to remain alive,” replied the doctor. “I can’t let him lie here. Ask Wilton to help you bring the loose door from the long shed, and we’ll get him upon it and carry him there.”
“Yes,” said Mr Bourne quickly, and he hurried back to the others.
“Come for the physic?” said the American, smiling; but on hearing what was required he eagerly joined in to help, and in a few minutes the roughly-made door was placed beside the unfortunate man, who was drawn upon it and carried into the long open shed and placed upon a heap of sweet new Indian corn-husks over which a blanket had been laid, a home-made pillow being fetched by Chris from the shanty the party shared, and as soon as the stranger felt the restfulness of his shaded easy couch he uttered a low sigh, opened his eyes, and looked up in the doctor’s, but only to gaze in a strange, far-off, stony way.
“Going to give him something now, doctor?” said the American.
“Not yet,” was the reply. “He is quite exhausted, and disposed to sleep. Did you give him anything?”
“Mug o’ water with a drop of cold tea in. He seemed choked with thirst.”
“Then I will wait and see if he sleeps before I do more.”
“But say, mister,” said the American; “I didn’t show him the way here so as to plant him on to you. I thought you’d give him some pills now and a draught to take in the morning. I could have done this for the poor chap. Hadn’t you better do something of that sort and let me take him back? What do you say to bleeding him?”
“When he has scarcely a drop of blood left in his body?”