Carl let Matt answer the questions, and Matt was glad that none of the doctor's remarks brought up anything about the pearls.
"His injury is not serious," said the doctor. "His forehead has been grazed by a bullet. A tight squeak, but in a case like this a miss is always as good as a mile."
"Why is he unconscious?" queried Matt.
"Just weak from loss of blood. We'll bring him around in a jiffy, and then he can tell all about what happened to him."
The doctor proceeded to cleanse the man's wound, and to put on a fresh bandage. Then, holding up his head, he forced a stimulant between his lips.
"He must be a wealthy man," remarked the doctor, his eyes on the watch-chain and the good clothes. "But what does a wealthy man want to be pounding around the country for—especially a country like this—all by himself?"
Before either Matt or Carl could hazard a guess, the man gave a slight start and opened his eyes. For an instant he stared blankly into the faces of the doctor and the boys, muttered something, and tried to get up.
"I wouldn't do that," said the doctor. "You're weak, yet. Wait till you get a little strength. Here, drink some more of this."
The man took another swallow of the stimulant, and seemed to get better control of himself.
"How did I come here?" he asked.