“My goodness,” cried Joe, springing up. “Oh! am I wounded? say!” he continued, evincing the most lively alarm.
“Well, if this don’t beat every thing that ever I saw in all my life, I wish I may be shot!” said Sneak.
“What is it?” asked Joe, his senses yet wandering.
“Jest feel the back of your head,” said Sneak. Joe put his hand to the place indicated, and winced under the pain of the touch. He then looked at his hand, and beholding a quantity of clotted blood upon it, fell down suddenly on the snow.
“What’s the matter now?” asked Glenn, who had seen his man sitting up, and came swiftly to him when he fell.
“I’m a dead man!” said Joe, mournfully.
“That’s a lie!” said Sneak.
“What ails you, Joe?” asked Glenn, his tone much softened.
“I’m dying—oh! I’m shot through the head!”
“Don’t believe him, Mr. Glenn—I’ll be smashed if its any thing but my tooth,” said Sneak.