“Nay,” said Joey, in a whisper, “he’s with us yet, lads; men don’t die when you can see that.”
A shudder ran through the group as they leaned forward to gaze at that to which the man pointed, and there plainly to be seen in the great windowless place by the light which came in through the broad, high doorway, they gazed at a slowly-increasing stain which came out upon the scarlet tunic hard by the blackened dried-up patch there at the side.
For the movement had started the wound bleeding afresh, and a bit of experience when a fellow-labourer had his arm crushed in a threshing-machine years before had taught the speaker that where bleeding continues there must be life still left in the sufferer’s veins.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
A good Genius.
They were a very ignorant rustic lot these poor farm labourers, but they knew that certain things were now necessary, and Joey, taking the lead as they waited for the help of the surgeon, gave the orders, which were executed at once.
One man seized a clean bucket, and trotted off down the hill to where in the bottom there was a dark dipping place in the lonely narrow stream, and while he was fetching the clear cold water the leader carefully unfastened the tunic.
“Sharpest knife, one o’ you,” said Joey, and after a little comparison of blades, most of which were ground more or less on their owner’s clumsy boots, he selected one, and carefully slit open the shirt and, cutting away enough to form a pad, he pressed it down upon the wound and checked the bleeding.