It appeared that the ball had entered Dobbin’s shoulder, struck a bone, turned upward, and passed out.
This made a long, irregular wound which was very painful, but which, as Trim soon saw, was not dangerous, provided it were treated right.
It gave him a great relief to discover that the ball had gone out.
“If I had to pick lead out of you, Dobbin,” he said, cheerfully, “there wouldn’t be so much fun in it.”
“Perhaps ee calls it fun to lie here with a broken shoulder, lad?” returned Dobbin.
“Oh, no. I know it isn’t fun, but you’re not going to die, and more than that, your shoulder isn’t broken.”
“Not broken, hey? Then why can’t I move my right arm, and what makes that horrible ache along the bone there?”
“The bullet has plowed all along the bone, and of course that hurts, but I’m sure nothing is broken, and if you’ll be patient, I’ll have you fixed up in a few minutes so that you’ll be more comfortable.”
“I’ve got all the patience there is, lad. I only wish that I could be up and take a hand in the fight!”
“There wouldn’t be room for you,” responded Trim.