"Conductor back?"
"No." Then we strained our eyes in the direction where he had disappeared.
I remember wondering dreamily why Jimmy whistled so damned out of tune, and whether any of us would ever get out of this death-trap, when we saw a speck far up the road. Jimmy stopped in the middle of "Dolly Day Dreams," spilt his coffee, and dashed off up the road.
The conductor had killed his own horse and the guide's; had found a farm ten miles away; had sent on my note but Doctor could not arrive till to-morrow; there were no drugs at the farm, but he'd brought us two bottles of Dop[11] and four loaves of fresh bread done up in a brown parcel!
A crowd of niggers were hovering round as near my tent as they dared come, hoping to catch an inkling of the news, and I could tell from the tone of their low mutterings that they expected nothing good. For a moment I was badly defeated.
Then a Heaven-sent inspiration seized me—"Well, Brown," I said, raising my voice, "So that's the chlorodyne is it?"—I seized the big brown-paper parcel—"It's five o'clock now; tell every Jack man in camp he's to fall in here sharp at six for a dose of chlorodyne."
The conductor stared at me; I suppose he thought I was mad.
"Don't you hear," I cried; "go off at once, and don't let anybody interrupt us while we have breakfast." And I managed to give him the faintest wink—in another minute I heard him shouting my order through the camp.
"Jimmy, let's make chlorodyne." Jimmy grinned. "Collis Browne's is the best," he said; "twenty drops for an adult."
Then he started whistling again while we shut up the tent and went to work.