“Don’t see as we can get a door off without tools, sir,” said Smiler. “What d’yer say to a huddle?”
“The very thing. We can lift this mattress right on to it, and it will be lighter and easier to carry.”
The light hurdle was soon brought, and the rough bed lifted carefully on. Volunteers were plentiful enough, and one of the men was sent on in advance to the little roadside inn, to give warning of the approach of the wounded man, while the four bearers—possibly from the load being what it was—stepped out in regular slow military fashion, and went on along the dusty lane.
“Will he die, sir?” whispered Joey, as they reached the road.
The doctor shook his head.
But fate had destined that the patient should find a different resting-place that night, for before half a mile had been traversed the sound of wheels was heard behind, and the doctor called to the party to step on one side of the lane and to let the waggonette which approached pass by.
This necessitated a halt, which was taken advantage of for a change to be made in the bearers; and, while this was going on, the waggonette was stopped, and the younger of two ladies within the vehicle addressed the doctor.
“What is the matter?” she asked. “An accident?”
“Rather worse than an accident, I’m afraid,” said the doctor, raising his hat in a combination of respect and admiration for the speaker. “A young soldier has been found injured by a bullet.”
“And you are taking him to Ratcham?”