When the scout had bathed and washed out the wound, he finished his examination, and told the baron that it was but a scalp wound, which he did not consider at all serious.
“I think I can fix you up, without any need of sending you to a doctor.”
From his saddle pouches he got out material, and in a little while had the wound dressed as well as any surgeon could have done it.
In the meantime, the baron had begun to unfold his tale of woe.
“I vendt py der Casino down,” he explained; “unt vhen I haf sday dhere so longk dot I gand’t goundt how longk idt iss, Shackson Dane he gomes oudt, dalking mit dhis vomans. Vhen he goes oop der streedt, I am doing der shatow acdt yoost so neadtly as neffer vos. Budt oop py Yuniper Yoe’s I lose sighdt uff him.”
“Juniper Joe’s!” gasped Nomad.
“We have just come from there,” the scout announced.
“So-o! I haf come vrom some odder blaces. Oop py Yuniper Yoe’s I lose sighdt uff him. I hoondt roundt a vhiles, unt sday py der drees in, till idt iss pooty near morning. Dhen I seen him.”
“By Juniper Joe’s?” said Nomad.
“No; py der drees in.”