"Nothing very bad, I hope?"
"Only a stab in the neck, three inches by one!"
"I knew not that you were wounded. Surely I saw you safe and sound after the mine was sprung at Ragusa. But I had better send the surgeon, or Stuart his assistant, to you."
"Oh, no! 'tis a mere scratch, which I would not value a brass bodle, had I received it during the brush this morning; but to gain it as I did,—d—n it! it excites all my fury. Did you see that blasted friar?"
"The guide? I left him but an hour ago. But who wounded you? Surely not the priest?"
"An old acquaintance of yours."
"Of mine!"
"Of yours, by the Lord! The rascal is disguised as a priest of the Convento de todos Santos at Merida. A short time ago I met the rogue leading a mule this way: his face was bare,—I knew him instantly and strove to capture him, that the provost-marshal might in time become acquainted with his throat, which I grasped. Quick as lightning he unsheathed a poniard, and dealt a blow at my neck, which alighting luckily on my gorget, glanced upwards, giving me a severe cut under the ear."
"Misery! You have not yet told his name."
"Are you really so dull as not yet to have guessed who he is? Tighten the bandage, Jock! I knew the cheat-the-woodie as well as I would have done old Mohammed Djedda, Osmin Djihoun the shoe-maker at Grand Cairo, or any queer carle it has been my luck to meet in campaigning. But come to the bivouac, and I will give you a detailed account of the matter over the contents of a keg of especial good eau de vie, which it was my luck to capture this morning."