“Don’t worry, fair lady!” he gasped. “It’s been something—to live for—once more! And the mine—you’ll not need that—after all!”
His eyes slowly closed but he was not unconscious, for he spoke again.
“It’s nothing much. That rat couldn’t kill—Louisiana!”
The man who was examining De Launay made an impatient gesture and Sucatash drew her gently away. She rose slowly, bending dumbly over the physician, as he seemed to be.
“Reckon he’s right,” said this man, grimly, as he bared De Launay’s chest. “Huh! These holes aren’t a circumstance to what this hombre’s had in him before this. Reckon he’s had a habit of mixing with cougars or something like that! Here’s a knife wound—old.”
“A bayonet did that,” said Solange.
“Soldier, eh! Well, he’s used to bullet holes and it’s a good thing. Hand me something to bandage him with, some one. He’s lost a heap of blood but there ain’t anything he won’t get over—that is, if you can get him out of this hole.”
The man seemed competent enough, although, abandoning his practice to join the gold rush, he had 306 brought few of the tools of his trade with him. He gathered handkerchiefs and Solange ripped open her flannel shirtwaist and tore the lingerie beneath it to furnish him additional cloth. She had collected herself and, although still shaky, was cool and efficient, her nurse’s experience rendering the doctor invaluable aid. Together they soon stanched the bleeding and directed De Launay’s removal to a near-by tent where he was laid upon ample bedding.
Then the doctor turned to Solange and Sucatash, who hovered around her like a satellite.
“I’ve done what I can,” he said. “But he’ll not stand much chance if he’s left up here. You’d better risk it and get him down to the Falls if it can be done.”