They took him back—very slowly and gently—to San Fernando, and intended to take him on board the Hector.
'Thank God, you came!' I said. 'You were just in time.'
He smiled wildly, wanted to say something, but didn't, and was taken away.
And now came the saddest of all things, for the wounded began to creep out of the forest and make their way to the Casino or be carried there—hundreds of them—and there wasn't a piece of lint or a bandage in the place. They simply squatted down and waited—for what I don't know. I got a good many of them water from the Casino well, and they were very grateful, but I couldn't do anything else.
I missed Gerald, went in search of him in the Casino, heard the noise of splashing water, and found him having a cold bath, José standing by to rub him down.
'Only thing which keeps me awake, Billums,' he laughed. 'I've given my chaps a couple of hours' sleep, and shall follow Zorilla as soon as those field-guns you took into San Fernando come along. I've sent for them.'
'They don't seem to be going to sleep yet,' I said, for there was any amount of noise outside and shouting of 'Viva Don Geraldio! Viva los Inglesas!'
'They want me, I expect,' he said; 'chuck us a towel, Billums,' and, winding it round him, he went out. He still had a nasty scar on the right arm—where that bit of shell had hit him a month ago.
'Tidy your yellow mop a bit,' I sang out, 'it's all over your eyes,' so he smoothed it back and went out on the balcony overlooking the road.
My aunt! there must have been thousands of the little brown men and their black-bearded officers there, and they made a tremendous noise, shouting, 'Viva Yuesencia Don Geraldio!'