"Now, Claiborne, that foolish Oscar has a first-aid kit of some sort that
he used on me a couple of weeks ago. Dig it out of his simple cell back
there and we'll clear up this mess in my shoulder. Twice on the same
side,--but I believe they actually cracked a bone this time."
He lay down on a long bench and Claiborne cut off his coat.
"I'd like to hold a little private execution for this," growled the
officer. "A little lower and it would have caught you in the heart."
"Don't be spiteful! I'm as sound as wheat. We have them down and the
victory is ours. The great fun is to come when the good Baron von Marhof
gets here. If I were dying I believe I could hold on for that."
"You're not going to die, thank God! Just a minute more until I pack this
shoulder with cotton. I can't do anything for that smashed bone, but
Bledsoe is the best surgeon in the army, and he'll fix you up in a
jiffy."
"That will do now. I must have on a coat when our honored guests arrive,
even if we omit one sleeve--yes, I guess we'll have to, though it does
seem a bit affected. Dig out the brandy bottle from the cupboard there in
the corner, and then kindly brush my hair and straighten up the chairs a
bit.
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