Being without medical bandages and knowing that their scanty supply of water was none too pure, Dacres was puzzled as to what was to be done. Finally he tore the cleanest portions of his own shirt into long strips and bound the wounds tightly, after allowing sufficient time for the flow of blood to wash away any impurities that might have been communicated by the Indian's knife.
"Here's a pretty mess," muttered Dacres. "This is a fine way to look after Henri, after my promise to his father. Stranded miles from anywhere, in a hostile country, and with a wounded man to look after. A nice out look, by Jove! but it might be worse."
CHAPTER XXV.
THE CAPTURE OF THE CAVARALE.
HALF an hour later Henri opened his eyes. He looked about him for nearly a minute, then bravely attempted to rise.
Dacres heard him muttering in French but could not distinguish the words.
"The horse," he murmured, pointing with his uninjured hand to the animal that was still standing quietly browsing by its dead master.
"All right," said Dacres soothingly. "I'll see about that later on. Drink some of this water."
The young Frenchman gratefully accepted the proffered bottle, but steadfastly refused to drink more than a very small quantity.
"I feel much better now," he said. "Am I hurt very much? The rogue was too quick for me."