"Oh, the blood!" she cried hoarsely. "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 Fanny! 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 Fanny! Quick! Get those cushions 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 cushions 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 cushions," 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!"




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