“No, I don’t know anything about it.”
“He robbed a fellow in the night, and the man chased him and shot him, and finding that he still ran, knocked him down with the butt end of his pistol, threw it at him; that is the worst hurt he had. And he is an old customer, for this blow opened an old place; it isn’t the first time he has been caught. I’ve just trepanned it—quite a serious operation under the circumstances.”
“And the pistol wounds?”
“Nothing but scratches; they won’t hurt.”
“Well, he is a human creature, with an immortal soul, and I shall take care of him, anyhow. There is nobody else to do it, so I intend to,” I said as calmly as I could, after all this terrible information, which had shaken me none the less for the doctor’s indifferent tone and manner.
“Very well, ma’am, I wish you success. There’s nothing to do now but keep him quiet until I come back after breakfast.”
I walked in alone and looked at the still, white face under the bandages. He was evidently under the influence of a heavy opiate, for there was no sign of life, except the faint breathing.
I could not help feeling a great pity for the young man, so friendless and so indifferently regarded, and with such a future to look forward to in his recovery. No clue could be found to his past or his family, if he had any.