Part 77 (1/2)
”To cut the guytrash down, if I can.”
”Put it away,” whispered Fred, angrily. ”What you have come to see wants no cutting down. It's a wounded man.”
”Oh!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Samson, as he thrust his sword back into its sheath.
”Why didn't you say so sooner, Master Fred?”
”This way--this way,” came back to him, accompanied by the rustling of branches and the sharp tearing noise made by thorns. ”Yes; here we are.”
Samson followed closely, with his arms outstretched, and in a minute or two he heard a sound which made him bend down to feel that Fred was kneeling, and the next moment talking to some one prostrate there in the darkness.
”Well, how are you?”
”Is that you, Master Fred?” came in a husky whisper, which made Samson start.
”Yes; I've brought you some bread and wine. How are the wounds?”
”Don't give me much pain, sir, now.”
”Master Fred.”
”Well?”
”Who's that?”
”Can't you hear, Samson? Your brother Nat.”
There was utter silence for a minute, during which it seemed as if Samson was holding his breath, for at the end of that pause, he gave vent to a low hissing sound, which continued till it seemed wonderful that the man should have been able to retain so much air.
”Drink some of this,” Samson heard Fred whisper; and there was the peculiar gurgling sound as of liquid escaping from a bottle, followed by another whisper bidding the sufferer eat.
”Look here, Master Fred,” said Samson, as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from his surprise to speak.
”What is it?”
”Do you know who it is you're talking to there in the dark?”
”Yes; your brother Nat.”
Samson remained silent and motionless as one of the trees for a minute.
Then he caught Fred by the shoulder.
”What is it, Samson? Do you hear any one?”
”No, sir; I was only thinking about what I ought to do now. Just stand aside, and let me come.”
”What for?”
”Well, sir, that's what I don't know. Ought I to--? You see, he's an enemy.”
”Samson, we can't leave him here, poor fellow! He may die for want of attention.”