"The wound is deep—and ugly—on the left side, too—I don't like its looks." He seemed to be speaking to himself, as his taper fingers deftly and gently searched the course of the bullet.
Carmelita scarcely breathed.
"Get some water from that spring, doña, quick. His pulse is stopping. Bring it in his cap; there's nothing else."
The girl's feet scarcely touched the ground in performing the task.
The friar dashed the water in Morando's face. His pulse showed no quickening. Carmelita hastened for another supply of water. This was as ineffective as the first. A third capful brought a slight return of animation.
"He's a little better now."
"O, padre."
Morando looked slowly up at them.
"Better now, brother? Good," as Morando slightly nodded. "We'll have you around soon. Lie very quietly and rest."
At sight of the pallid face lying against the padre's arm, Carmelita turned and walked away, to conceal the sobbing that would not down.