“I heard two shots, but I did not know who fired them.”
“I supposed he had gone when he left the house; but it seems he went round, and entered again by another door. I did not think the ruffian was base enough to kill an old man like your father, or I would have shot him in the first place. I did not wish to do so in your presence.”
“I wish you had.”
“Is your father badly wounded?”
“I don’t know how bad it is; he was struck in the shoulder. I have trembled every day for fear of these guerillas; but when they come with an officer, my father’s paper always saves us from harm.”
“Have you sent for a surgeon?” asked Somers.
“We have no horse at home, and the surgeon lives five miles from us.”
“Take the dead man’s horse.”
“Thank you; I will send a man at once,” replied Miss Callicot.
A boy was immediately despatched on Skinley’s horse for a doctor, and Somers went with the lady to the room of her father. The young officer examined the wound, and ventured to assure the sufferer that it was not a dangerous one. When wounded himself, he had seen the surgeons operate, and he had some idea of the methods employed. The old man was bleeding freely; and by changing his position on the bed, and by pressing a napkin around the wound, he checked the flow of blood.