It is not mortal, nor likely to prove so. The guide and hunter, like most of his calling, is a rough practical surgeon; and after giving the wound a hurried examination, pronounces it “only a scratch,” then urges his companion onward.
Again starting, they proceed at the same quick pace; but before they have made another mile the wounded man feels his weakness sensibly overcoming him. Then the rapid run is succeeded by a slow dog-trot, soon decreasing to a walk, at length ending in a dead stop.
“I can go no farther, Walt; not if all the devils of hell were at my heels. I’ve done my best. If they come after you keep on, and leave me.”
“Niver, Frank Hamersley, niver! Walt Wilder ain’t the man to sep’rate from a kumrade, and leave him in a fix that way. If ye must pull up, so do this child. An’ I see ye must; thar’s no behelp for it.”
“I cannot go a step farther.”
“Enuf! But don’t let’s stan’ to be seen miles off. Squat’s the word. Down on yer belly, like a toad under a harrer. Thar’s jest a resemblance o’ kiver, hyar ’mong these tussocks o’ buffler-grass; an’ this child ain’t the most inconspicerousest objeck on the plain. Let’s squat on our breast-ribs, an’ lay close as pancakes.”
Whilst speaking he throws himself to the earth, flat on his face.
Hamersley, already tottering, drops down by his side; as he does so, leaving the plain, as far as the eye can reach, without salient object to intercept the vision—any more than might be seen on the surface of a sleeping ocean.
It is in favour of the fugitives that the day has now well declined. But they do not remain long in their recumbent position before the sun, sinking behind the western horizon, gives them an opportunity of once more getting upon their feet.
They do so, glad to escape from a posture whose restraint is exceedingly irksome. They have suffered from the hot atmosphere rising like caloric from the parched plain. But now that the sun had gone down, a cool breeze begins to play over its surface, fanning them to fresh energy. Besides, the night closing over them—the moon not yet up—has removed the necessity for keeping any longer in concealment, and they proceed onward without fear. Hamersley feels as if fresh blood had been infused into his veins; and he is ready to spring to his feet at the same time as his comrade.