" At which Moore was silent till his patient needed him again.
It was a weary day. The intense pain from the wound, and the high fever
from the poison in his blood kept the poor fellow in delirium till
evening, when The Duke rode up with the Fort doctor. Jingo appeared
as nearly played out as a horse of his spirit ever allowed himself to
become.
"Seventy miles," said The Duke, swinging himself off the saddle. "The
doctor was ten miles out. How is he?"
I shook my head, and he led away his horse to give him a rub and a feed.
Meantime the doctor, who was of the army and had seen service, was
examining his patient. He grew more and more puzzled as he noted the
various symptoms. Finally he broke out:
"What have you been doing to him? Why is he in this condition? This
fleabite doesn't account for all," pointing to the wound.
We stood like children reproved. Then The Duke said, hesitatingly:
"I fear, doctor, the life has been a little too hard for him. He had a
severe nervous attack--seeing things, you know."
"Yes, I know," stormed the old doctor. "I know you well enough, with
your head of cast-iron and no nerves to speak of. I know the crowd and
how you lead them. Infernal fools! You'll get your turn some day. I've
warned you before."
The Duke was standing up before the doctor during this storm, smiling
slightly.
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