"Eh, is there anything new?"
"I would not say so. But he's sore hurt. And I'm thinking he takes it hard."
"Aye, you're the devil of a thinker, Donald." Captain McBean grinned.
"And the Colonel, has he made a noise?"
"He's in the way of calling for liquors, but he's peaceable, the women say."
"You'll go get your breakfast and be back again. And bring O'Connor with you. I'll hope to need the two of you." Captain McBean relieved guard on the doorstep till the surgeon came down. "I'm obliged to you, Mr. Rolfe. What do you make of him?"
"Egad, Captain, you're devoted. Why, the old gentleman has put in for some fever, but I doubt he will do well enough."
"Be sure of it. What of the young one?"
Mr. Rolfe pursed his lip. "Faith, there's no more amiss. But—but—why, he was hard hit, I grant you—but you might take the young one for the old one. D'ye follow me? The lad hath no vigour in him."
McBean nodded. "I'll be talking to him, by your leave."
"Od's life, I would not talk long. I don't like it, Captain, and there's the truth. Go easy with him. I will be here again to-day."