"Curse you! will you kill me so?" he yelled, snapping with his great jaws, trying to reach and rend the hands that restrained him.
"Lie still, Bideabout," said the young painter, "are you crazed? We will do you no harm. Mehetabel is binding up your arm. As far as I can make out the shot has run up it and is lodged in the shoulder."
"I care not. Let me go. You will murder me." Mehetabel had torn a strip from her skirt and was making a bandage of it.
"Jonas," she said, "pray lie quiet, or sit up and be reasonable.
I must do what I can to stay the blood."
As he began to realize that he was being attended to, and that Iver and Mehetabel had no intention to hurt him, the Broom-Squire became more composed and patient.
His brows were knit and his teeth set. He avoided looking into the faces of those who attended to him.
Presently the young painter helped him to rise, and offered his arm. This Jonas refused.
"I can walk by myself," said he, churlishly; then turning to Mehetabel, he said, with a sneer, "The devil never does aught but by halves."
"What do you mean?"
"The bullet has entered my arm and not my heart, as you desired."