He thus addressed takes hold of Hamersley’s pulse, and, after a moment or two, pronounces upon it. It beats; it indicates extreme weakness, but not absolute danger of death.
Then the wounded man is carried inside—tenderly borne, as if he, too, were a brother—laid upon a couch, and looked after with all the skill the grey-haired medico can command, with all the assiduity of her who has brought him to the house, and him she calls “Hermano.”
As soon as the stranger has been disposed of, between these two there is a dialogue—the brother seeking explanations from the sister, though first imparting information to her. He knows the man she has saved; telling her how and where their acquaintance was made. Few words suffice, for already is the story known to her. In return, she too gives relation of what has happened—how, after her chase upon the plain, coming back successful, she saw the zopilotés, and was by them attracted out of her way; narrating all the rest already told.
And now nothing more can be known. The man still lives—thank Heaven for that!—but lies on the couch unconscious of all around him. Not quiet, for he is turning about, with quick-beating pulse, and brain in a condition of delirium.
For a night and a part of a day they keep by his bedside—all three, sister, brother, and doctor, grouped there, or going and coming. They know who the wounded man is, though ignorant of how he came by his wounds, or what strange chance left him stranded on the Staked Plain.
They have no hope of knowing until he may regain consciousness and recover. And of this the doctor has some doubt; when asked, shaking his head ominously, till the spectacles get loosened upon his nose.
But, though the prognosis remain uncertain, the diagnosis is learnt in a manner unexpected. Before noon of the next day the hounds are heard baying outside; and the watchers by the sick-bed, summoned forth, see one approaching—a personage whose appearance causes them surprise. Any one seen there would do the same, since for months no stranger had come near them. Strange, indeed, if one had, for they are more than a hundred miles from any civilised settlement, in the very heart and centre of a desert.
What they see now is a man of colossal form and gigantic stature, with bearded face and formidable aspect, rendered somewhat grotesque by a deer’s carcase carried over his shoulders, the shanks of the animal rising crossways over his crown.
They are not dismayed by the uncouth apparition. She who has brought Hamersley to the house guesses it to be the comrade of whom he spoke—describing him as “true and faithful.”
And, without reflecting further, she glides out, grasps the great hunter by the hand, and conducts him to the bedside of his unconscious companion.