Riemer, who was both surgeon and soldier, probed the wound in
von Miner's leg and extracted the bullet, which had lodged in
the fleshy part of the calf. He applied cold water, lints and
bandages. All the while von Mitter sat in the chair, his eyes
shut and his lips closed tightly.
"There!" said the surgeon, standing up, "that's better. The loss
of blood is the worst part of it." Next he took a few stitches
in the cut on the cheek and threw his cloak over the wounded
man's knee. "He'll be all right in a day or so, though he'll
limp. Carl?"
"O, I'm sound enough," answered von Mitter, opening his eyes. "A
little weak in the knees, that's all. I shouldn't have given in,
only Kopf got away when we had him fair and fast. We found his
horse wandering about the Frohngarten, but no sign of Johann.
He's got it, though, square in the back."
"I'm sure of it," said Maurice, who leaned over the back of the
speaker's chair.
The Captain eyed him inquiringly.
"Pardon me," said Scharfenstein. "Captain, Monsieur Carewe, an
American tourist, formerly of the United States cavalry. And a
pretty shot, too, by the book! It would have gone badly with us
but for him.
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