“Do you think him in danger, Archie?”
“It is hard to say, especially so soon.”
“Surely you did not leave him at their camp?” said Margaret.
“No. He is in my canoe on the beach.”
“Good gracious! Is he?”
Anne smiled, as she would have said, inside of her, and reflected upon the wisdom her brother had displayed, for at once Margaret, easily captured by appeals to her pity, was afoot, and, for the time, intent alone upon what was best to be done.
“I would send Tom to Mackenzie for a doctor, and he must stay. I think, Archie, you will have to give Mr. Carington your room and take to a tent.” Then she went off to set the room in order, while Lyndsay returned to the beach, still a little anxious, but also a little amused.
Rose had gone.
By and by the guides carried the wounded man up into the neat chamber, where Lyndsay helped him to bed, and was easily able to ascertain that the ball had crossed the chest beneath the skin, passed over the left shoulder, and out again—a severe flesh-wound.
“It does not bleed,” said Lyndsay, “and I think there is no very serious hurt. Can you move your arm?”