“I'll cut it off,” was the reply, “I shall faint if I do not cool off the leg. The ball is somewhere in the calf.” And he waded out into the water until it reached above his knees. Thus he stood for a moment, then returned to the maid, who, on opening her eyes, screamed. “It is all over, Camille,” said the Lieutenant, throwing an arm about her.
“Your face is bleeding!” she cried, and sank back with her head against his broad breast.
As Maurice gazed at the pair he sighed. There were no obstacles here.
Soon Scharfenstein came loping down the hill alone.
“I killed his horse,” he said, in response to queries, “but he fled into the woods where I could not follow. A bad night for us, Carl, a bad night,” swinging off his horse. “A boy would have done better work. Whom have we here?”
“Kopf,” said Maurice, “and he has a ball somewhere inside,” holding up a bloody hand.
“Kopf?” Scharfenstein cocked his revolver.
The maid of honor placed her hands over her ears and screamed again. Max gazed at her, and, with a short, Homeric laugh, lowered the revolver.
“Any time will do,” he said. “Ah, he opens his eyes.”
The prisoner's eyes rolled wildly about. That frowning face above him... was it a vision? Who was it? What was he doing here?