Part 7 (1/2)
”Oh, the blood!” she cried hoa.r.s.ely. ”Is it--is it--are you badly hurt?”
She was at his side, the pistol falling from her nervous fingers.
”Don't come near me; I'm all right,” he cried quickly.
”Take care--your dress--”
”Oh, I'm so glad to hear you speak! Never mind the dress! You are torn to pieces! You must be frightfully hurt. Oh, isn't it terrible--horrible! Aunt f.a.n.n.y! Come here this minute!”
Forgetting the beast and throwing off the paralysis of fear, she pushed one of the men away and grasped the arm of the injured man. He winced perceptibly and she felt something warm and sticky on her hands. She knew it was blood, but it was not in her to shrink at a moment like this.
”Your arm, too!” she gasped. He smiled, although his face was white with pain. ”How brave you were! You might have been--I'll never forget it--never! Don't stand there, Aunt f.a.n.n.y! Quick! Get those cus.h.i.+ons for him. He's hurt.”
”Good Lawd!” was all the old woman could say, but she obeyed her mistress.
”It was easier than it looked, your highness,” murmured Baldos. ”Luck was with me. The knife went to his heart. I am merely scratched. His leap was short, but he caught me above the knees with his claws. Alas, your highness, these trousers of mine were bad enough before, but now they are in shreds. What patching I shall have to do! And you may well imagine we are short of thread and needles and thimbles--”
”Don't jest, for heaven's sake! Don't talk like that. Here! Lie down upon these cus.h.i.+ons and--”
”Never! Desecrate the couch of Graustark's ruler? I, the poor goat-hunter? I'll use the lion for a pillow and the rock for an operating table. In ten minutes my men can have these scratches dressed and bound--in fact, there is a surgical student among them, poor fellow. I think I am his first patient. Ravone, attend me.”
He threw himself upon the ground and calmly placed his head upon the body of the animal.
”I insist upon your taking these cus.h.i.+ons,” cried Beverly.
”And I decline irrevocably.” She stared at him in positive anger. ”Trust Ravone to dress these trifling wounds, your highness. He may not be as gentle, but he is as firm as any princess in all the world.”
”But your arm?” she cried. ”Didn't you say it was your legs? Your arm is covered with blood, too. Oh, dear me, I'm afraid you are frightfully wounded,”
”A stray bullet from one of my men struck me there, I think. You know there was but little time for aiming--?”
”Wait! Let me think a minute! Good heavens!” she exclaimed with a start. Her eyes were suddenly filled with tears and there was a break in her voice. ”I shot you! Don't deny it--don't! It is the right arm, and your men could not have hit it from where they stood. Oh, oh, oh!”
Baldos smiled as he bared his arm. ”Your aim was good,” he admitted. ”Had not my knife already been in the lion's heart, your bullet would have gone there. It is my misfortune that my arm was in the way. Besides, your highness, it has only cut through the skin--and a little below, perhaps. It will be well in a day or two, I am sure you will find your bullet in the carca.s.s of our lamented friend, the probable owner of this place.”
Ravone, a hungry-looking youth, took charge of the wounded leader, while her highness retreated to the farthest corner of the cavern. There she sat and trembled while the wounds were being dressed. Aunt f.a.n.n.y bustled back and forth, first unceremoniously pus.h.i.+ng her way through the circle of men to take observations, and then reporting to the impatient girl. The storm had pa.s.sed and the night was still, except for the rush of the river; raindrops fell now and then from the trees, glistening like diamonds as they touched the light from the cavern's mouth. It was all very dreary, uncanny and oppressive to poor Beverly. Now and then she caught herself sobbing, more out of shame and humiliation than in sadness, for had she not shot the man who stepped between her and death?
What must he think of her?
”He says yo' all 'd betteh go to baid, Miss Bev--yo' highness,” said Aunt f.a.n.n.y after one of her trips.
”Oh, he does, does he?” sniffed Beverly. ”I'll go to bed when I please. Tell him so. No, no--don't do it, Aunt f.a.n.n.y! Tell him I'll go to bed when I'm sure he is quite comfortable, not before.”
”But he's jes' a goat puncheh er a--”
”He's a man, if there ever was one. Don't let me hear you call him a goat puncher again. How are his legs?” Aunt f.a.n.n.y was almost stunned by this amazing question from her ever-decorous mistress. ”Why don't you answer? Will they have to be cut off? Didn't you see them?”
”Fo' de Lawd's sake, missy, co'se Ah did, but yo' all kindeh susprise me. Dey's p'etty bad skun up, missy; de hide's peeled up consid'ble. But hit ain' dang'ous,--no, ma'am. Jes' skun, 'at's all.”
”And his arm--where I shot him?”