They all stood around the wounded man and Ellen, and stared for a second. They were half stupefied.
“My God! this is a bad job,” said Dixon.
“Go for a doctor,” cried Ellen, hoarsely.
“We're a pack of fools,” ejaculated Sargent, suddenly. Then he gave Granville Joy a push on the back. “Run for your life for the first doctor,” he cried, and was down on his knees beside the wounded man. Lloyd seemed to be quite insensible. There was a dark spot which was constantly widening in a hideous circle of death on his shirt-front when Sargent opened his coat and vest tenderly.
“Is he—” whispered Ellen. She held one of Lloyd's hands in a firm clutch as if she would in such wise hold him to life.
“No, not yet,” whispered Sargent. Dixon knelt down on the other side, and took Lloyd's other hand and felt his pulse. McLaughlin was rushing aimlessly up and down, talking as he went.
“I never heard a thing till that shot came,” he kept repeating. “He'd jest been in to get his pocketbook he'd left in the office. I never heard a thing till I heard that shot.”
Sargent was opening Lloyd's shirt. “McLaughlin, for God's sake stop talking and run for another doctor, in case Joy does not get one at once,” he cried; “then go to his house, and tell young Lloyd, but don't say anything to his wife.”
“Poor Mrs. Lloyd,” whispered Ellen.
The sick man sighed audibly. It seemed as if he had heard. The other watchmen stood looking on helplessly.