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The Peril Finders, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 44. Open-Air Surgery |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. OPEN-AIR SURGERY "Griggs!" shouted Chris excitedly. "Why, there you are! The doctor's gone the other way to see if he could find a gully by which he could climb up to try and find you. I came this way. Same purpose, and I've got all the luck. Take care! Mind! These stones are slippery." "Yes, I'll mind," said Chris, as he descended the rocks backwards. "This is nothing; but hadn't you better run and tell father you've found me?" "Nay! I'm not going to brag. I didn't find you; you seem to have found me. Then you haven't broken your neck?" "No." "How many legs are snapped?" "None," said Chris, who threatened to break one directly, so reckless was his progress. "Arms, then?" "I'm all right, I tell you, only a bit knocked about; but where's Ned?" "Along with his father on the upper terrace, giving the Indians a bit of a shot now and then to keep them from coming up after the mules." "But can they do it alone?" "Oh yes; the brutes are sad cowards and don't like powder and shot at all." "There!" cried Chris, leaping to earth and coming close to the American. "Now then, I want to join father." "That's soon done," said Griggs; "but keep an eye up towards the top yonder, and 'ware arrows." "Yes, I know," said Chris excitedly. "Of course you do; but they'll be pretty shy of showing themselves now, after our bit of shooting." "Walk quicker," said Chris. "But tell me, how did the enemy attack you?" "That's what we want you to tell us, lad. When they began we were afraid they had got you. How did it all happen?" Chris explained in a few words, and then began questioning, to learn how those he had left behind were nearly taken by surprise, but their preparations proved too perfect and a few shots had driven the Indians back. "Spoiled our night's rest, though," said Griggs dryly, "for there was no sleep for fear of the redskins stealing by us in the dark and driving off the cattle." "Ah," said Chris, with a sigh. "My poor mustang!" "Poor brute, yes," said Griggs. "It was a thousand pities. I liked that pony. He made me jealous of you." "Don't talk about him," said Chris quickly. "I tried so hard to save him." "You did, my lad; you did." "How do you know?" said Chris, staring. "How do I know? Why, didn't I tell you the redskins spoiled our night's rest?" "Yes." "Well, that means we were all wide awake at daybreak." "Then you saw all?" cried Chris. "Why, certainly. Ned had the glass and was telescoping in all directions up and down the valley, looking out for squalls, when he suddenly made us all jump nearly out of our skins for joy by shouting out, 'There's Chris!'" "And then you saw all that happened?" "To be sure we did," said Griggs; "everything, and precious unpleasant some of it was. It brought us into action pretty soon though, making us hurry up towards the head of the valley here on the chance of getting a good shot or two in amongst our savage friends." Chris turned round and looked the American full in the face, but without speaking. "Well, what's the matter, lad? Smudgy with gunpowder? Oh, I've had no time to wash this morning." "Griggs," cried Chris excitedly, "who was it fired that shot?" "Which one, my lad? We sent a good many flying." "You know what I mean." "Yes, who was firing. Your father, of course." "You're prevaricating, Griggs," cried Chris huskily. "Tell me at once who fired that shot?" "Which one? We tumbled two or three, or more, of the enemy down. So did you. I heard your rifle crack, and saw them come off the cliff." "No nonsense, Griggs; you know what I mean. I say, who fired that shot?" "And I say which one? There were so many." "The one that saved my life." "Oh, I see," cried the American; "that one. Well, I think it was either me or the doctor, but we were in such a state of excitement that it's doubtful." "There, I was sure of it from the first," cried Chris, holding out his hand; "it was you, Griggs." "I don't say it was, and I don't say it wasn't, my lad," said the American, turning away carelessly as if not seeing the extended hand; "but look here, it was bad enough for you, that set-to with the redskins; but it was all excitement and action; you had no time to think. It was a hundred times worse for us down below here." "Indeed?" said Chris half mockingly. "Yes, indeed. I tell you, my lad, I never passed such a bad half-hour before in my life. We could see every movement, except when you galloped out of sight. It all stood out like a picture against the clear morning sky, while there we were nearly all the time, afraid to shoot because we were more likely to hit you than the enemy. My word, I felt bad enough, but it was just horrible for the doctor." "Poor father!" said Chris. "You may well say that, my lad. P'r'aps you don't know it, but he thinks a deal of you, my lad." "Why, of course," cried Chris. "Very foolish of him, I suppose, but then he don't know you so well as I do. He's prejudiced, you see." "I suppose so," said Chris. "My word, he did take on when he saw the mustang come over the cliff and drag you after it!" "Don't talk about it," cried Chris with a shudder. "Why not? I think it was very fine now. We were a bit worried at first, and the doctor couldn't shoot at all for some time; but as soon as we heard you begin to pop and the redskins came down, we nearly went mad with joy. I saw, though he didn't say much out loud, but I just caught sight of his lips moving now and then; and the way he shot afterwards--I don't believe he made a miss. I say, the redskins were soon tired of showing their faces over the edge of the cliff. But, my word, Chris, lad, you had a narrow escape!" "Several," said Chris, smiling. "Ah! Yes! You ought to have been killed with the arrows." "Ought I?" "Yes, that you ought. Those fellows shoot very straight, and send those thin splints of wood with tremendous force." "They do," sighed Chris. "My poor mustang!" "Ah! Poor plucky little thing; he nearly killed you too." "In his agony, poor creature. He was shot savagely." "Ah! Yes. Seems rather hard on him--a horse to be shot by means of a horse." "I don't understand you," said Chris, staring. "No? Don't you know what some of their bows are?" "Oh, you mean the strings. Made out of twisted gut, perhaps." "That's quite right, my lad, but not what I meant. I meant the bows themselves." "Some very tough wood, I suppose, like the yew with which the English used to make bows." "Nay. Lots of them are made of horses' or buffaloes' ribs. They're handy and short and tough. You know with what a whing they can send an arrow." "I didn't know that," said Chris thoughtfully. "Didn't you, now?" said Griggs mockingly. "I shouldn't wonder if there are two or three more things that you haven't found out yet. But, as I was saying, you ought to have been a dead one over that job, squire. The redskins meant you; but they got the worst of it. I say, though, I could teach you a-many things." "Well, you have taught me many things in shooting and fishing and hunting." "Well, yes, a few," said the American coolly; "but they're just about nothing to what you could teach me." "I?" cried Chris, staring at him in wonder. "Why, what could I teach you that you don't know?" "How to tumble over a cliff like that without doing yourself any worse damage than making a few scratches, tearing your jacket, and getting yourself full of dust." They had been tramping together across the head of the valley as they talked about their experiences, with Chris keeping a keen lookout ahead for the first glimpse of his father, and giving an occasional look up towards the edge of the cliff, which he noted was wonderfully broken up into hollows and prominences, rifts and gorges that had been invisible from a distance, and all overhung by a level band of apparently impassable rock. But during the last few minutes of their chat they had been so deeply interested that neither had glanced upward to their right, and the first warning they had of danger was given in a quick sharp shout in the doctor's familiar voice. "Ah, look out!" he cried, and followed up his words by firing; but before the bullet left his rifle Chris heard a loud whirring and saw his companion start violently before stooping down a few yards away to pick a little arrow from where it had stuck in the ground. "That's not bad shooting," said Griggs coolly. "Hit him, doctor?" "Yes," said the latter, hurrying up to catch Chris's hand. "My boy! my boy!" he cried in a choking voice which prevented him from saying more. But he seemed to give himself a wrench directly after, to speak out plainly and with decision. "You must keep a sharper lookout, Griggs," he cried. "You forget that we are within range of their arrows." "I shall remember in future, doctor," said the American dryly. "Did that arrow touch you?" said the doctor anxiously. "Went right through the leg of my boot, sir," said Griggs coolly. "But it did not graze you? Why, man, you're bleeding fast!" "Oh, it's nothing, sir," said the man. "How do you know?" cried the doctor. "Here, let's get behind that stone. They can't touch us there." Griggs walked firmly enough half the distance to the shelter sought for, but he limped the rest of the way, and was ready enough to sit down behind the rock and let the doctor go on one knee to carefully draw up the bloodstained bottom of the man's trousers just above where it was thrust into the high boot. "Hah!" sighed the doctor. "Only a clean little cut in the flesh. I'll put a stitch or two in it. Why, it's as clean as if done with a knife." The doctor had laid his rifle ready to hand, and was busy at once opening a pocket-book containing the necessaries he required; but first of all he pulled round the bottle slung over his shoulder and carefully washed the diagonal cut. "You don't think there's poison in it, do you, doctor?" said the American, with a look of amusement. "Any form of dirt is poison to a wound," said the doctor, drying the place; and then, after deftly drawing the edges of the wound together, cutting some strips of plaister with the bright scissors ready, and applying them to keep all protected from the air. "Hurt much?" he said, as he worked away, Chris watching the while as if taking a lesson. "Well, yes, I won't say it don't, doctor; but not worse than I feel somewhere else. I say, though, hadn't we better make haste back to the fort?" "Yes; you feel faint, don't you?" "Horribly," said Griggs, giving Chris a comical look. "Let's go, then. Put your foot as lightly as you can to the ground, and lean on me. We must get out of bowshot as quickly as we can." "Tchah! Only my nonsense, doctor," said Griggs cheerily. "My faintness is the same as squire's here. We want our breakfast horribly." "Oh," cried the doctor, smiling. "I was afraid it was from your wound. I don't wonder that you are faint, Chris. But one moment, boy, do you think the Indians can lower themselves down over the edge of the cliff?" "No, father; not unless they are ready to drop as I did." "How far?" "Can't tell," said Chris, with an involuntary shudder. "It was rather horrible, and I wonder I wasn't killed." "And I wonder too," said the doctor solemnly. "I don't think that they will dare to descend in the daytime, for they will be afraid that we are waiting to fire at all who show; so come on. Are you sure you can walk, Griggs?" "Walk, sir? I should like to run." "But your leg must smart." "Hardly smarts, sir; it's just as if somebody was playing at sewing it up with a red-hot skewer. Nice bold refreshing sort of pain.--Tchah! That's all right." "But where are the mules and ponies, father?" said Chris, as they hurried now in the direction of the terraced cliff on their right. "Hobbled, and grazing at the foot of our cliff under shelter of a couple of rifles." "But there are more Indians at the mouth of the gulch?" "I don't know," said the doctor. "They had a fire burning there last night." "Yes," said Chris dryly, "I know;" but he did not then attempt to explain how he knew. "They haven't shown since they felt the effect of our bullets, but they're as cunning as they are treacherous, and one never knows what they may be about." Some quarter of an hour later the adventurers were all in shelter, one of the cells of the lower range having been turned into a temporary mess-room, while the next showed signs of cooking in the shape of a curling little column of smoke; there was water in buckets outside on the terrace, where, behind a kind of breastwork hastily piled-up, watch was being kept; and well in sight there were the animals of the little train, grazing contentedly enough well within range of the watchers' rifles. Chris felt like a hero after the warmth of his welcome was beginning to cool down. He had eaten almost ravenously, and assuaged the great thirst from which he had suffered. But now the great desire from which he suffered was want of sleep, for he was utterly weary and so stiff that he could hardly refrain from uttering a groan. All the same he had been obliged to relate his adventures once more-- such of them as had not been seen from the valley. But at last he was lying down in the cool shade in one of the cells and dropping off, but only to be aroused by the coming in of Ned, who was eager to hear more. "You are a lucky one, Chris," he said, in an ill-used tone. "What!" cried the boy angrily; but the next moment the remark presented such a ludicrous side that he began to laugh, and then, possibly from exhaustion and the result of the exciting passages he had gone through, his mirth grew at once almost hysterical, so that he could not check himself. "Why, what's the matter?" cried Ned wonderingly. "Have I said anything comic?" "Horribly," panted Chris; "but I do wish you'd go, and let me sleep." "I will soon," said Ned; "but I don't see what there is to laugh at, unless you feel jolly triumphant at getting all the best of the expedition to yourself." "I do," said Chris. "It was lovely being shot at with arrows and tumbling down those precipices, better than any dream I ever had." The boy's face looked mirthful, and Ned did not notice the bitterly sarcastic ring there was in his comrade's words, as he said in an envious tone-- "Well, it's all very fine, but I shall tell father that it isn't fair for you to be made the favourite, and I don't think you've behaved well." "Don't you?" said Chris, sobering down. "I'm very sorry; but I've done the best I could." "Perhaps so, but I don't think that if I had lost my pony I could have lain there and grinned as you've done. Poor brute! I almost believe I would rather have died myself." Chris was perfectly sobered now, and as Ned walked away he lay there in the cool shadow with a peculiar look in his weary eyes, while, far from desiring sleep, he could only lie hot-headed and in feverish pain, thinking of the gallant way in which the pony had galloped to save his life. It was long before he slept, and when he did it was to go through most of the events of the past night and morning again in feverish dreams. But at last he slept too heavily for dreams. Nature required rest, and the boy lay breathing in the cool mountain air and sleeping as if he meant to crowd the rest of two nights into one. _ |
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