Part 22 (1/2)

”Will you drink, monsieur,” she asked, in French.

”I am an American,” he said, with a faint smile, ”as I suppose you are.”

”No, I am English, which is nearly the same thing.”

”I must trouble you to hold it to my lips,” he said, ”for as you see my right arm is useless, my collar-bone is broken, I believe, and my shoulder-blade smashed. However, it might be worse.”

She held a gla.s.s to his lips. As he drank a sudden thought struck her.

”Are you Arnold Dampierre?” she asked.

”That is certainly my name,” he said, ”though I cannot think how you guess it.”

”I have heard of you from a friend of mine, Cuthbert Harrington. Can you tell me, sir, if he is hurt?”

”Then you must be Miss Brander. Yes, I am sorry to say he is hurt. I don't know how badly,” he went on hurriedly, as he saw the look of pain in her face. ”I did not see him until we were put in the wagon next to each other, and he was not much up to talking, and in fact its motion was too much for him and he fainted, but no doubt he will soon come round. They are bringing him into the next bed. Perhaps it will be better for you if you were to let one of the other nurses attend to him until he comes round a bit.”

But Mary shook her head silently. She had been trembling as she asked the question, but she stood stiff and rigid as Cuthbert was brought up.

She gave one short gasp when she saw his face as they lowered the litter to the ground. Then she hurried to the table on which the gla.s.ses were standing, poured some brandy into a tumbler, and was turning when the surgeon entered the tent. She put down the gla.s.s, hurried up to him, and laid a fluttering hand on his arm.

”Come, Doctor; please come quickly.”

A momentary flash of surprise crossed his face. However, he said nothing but quickened his steps and stood by the pallet on to which Cuthbert had just been lifted. A shade pa.s.sed over his face; he put his hand on Cuthbert's wrist, then knelt down and placed his ear over his heart.

”Is he dead?” Mary asked in a whisper, as he rose to his feet again.

”No, no, my dear, I hope he is worth many dead men yet; he has fainted from the jolting of the wagon just as many others that you have seen have done. Fetch that brandy you have just poured out. He is hard hit,”

and he pointed to a bloodstained patch in his s.h.i.+rt just above the waistband of his trousers. ”There is no doubt about that, but we shall know more about it presently.”

As she hurried off to fetch the brandy the doctor's lips tightened.

”It is fifty to one against him,” he muttered, ”still, I have seen men live with similar wounds.”

He took the gla.s.s from Mary's hands as she returned and poured a little between Cuthbert's lips. Then he listened to the heart's beating again.

”It is stronger already,” he said, encouragingly to Mary. ”Now, my dear, you had better go out for a few minutes and get a little fresh air. Ask Mrs. Stanmore to come here. I must try and find out where the bullet has gone.” As she moved away he went on, ”Wait here a minute, Wilson, I shall want to turn him over directly. Now for the wound. Ah! I thought so!” as he removed a lightly fastened bandage and lifted a pad of lint beneath it.

”There has been no bleeding since he was taken up. No doubt he fell forward at first. Now turn him over. Ah, the bullet has gone right through! He must have been hit by a shot fired at close quarters. Well, that will save us trouble and the chances of complications. It is now a simple question of how much damage it did as it pa.s.sed through. Ah, Mrs.

Stanmore,” he went on as the nurse came up with a tray of bandages and other necessaries, ”I find that there is not much to do here.”

He took two small pieces of lint and rolled them up, poured a few drops of carbolic acid on to them, placed one in each orifice, put pads of lint over them, and pa.s.sed a bandage twice round the body to keep them in place.

”Thank you, Wilson, that will do for the present. Please pour a little strong brandy and water down his throat, Mrs. Stanmore. Now I will see to the next man. How are you hurt? In the shoulder, I see, by your bandages.”

”I was lying down behind a wall, Doctor, and raised myself slightly to fire through a loophole when a bullet came through. I heard the surgeon say that it had smashed the collar-bone, and had gone out through the bone behind. I don't know what he called it, but it is what I should call the shoulder-bone.”

”Well, in that case you are in luck,” the surgeon said, ”if it had glanced more downwards you would have been a dead man five minutes after you were hit. Do you feel comfortable at present?”

”As comfortable as I can expect.”