"Frank! is it you?" murmured Winch, faintly.
"Yes, Jack!" panted the boy, out of breath with exertion.
"O, no!" said Frank. "You've got a bullet in you somewhere; but I guess the surgeon will soon have it out, and you'll be all right again."
Just then there came another rifle-crack, not quite so near as before, and another bullet came with its angry buzz. It cut a twig just over Mr. Sinjin's head, and grazed a cypress tree farther on, at a point considerably lower, and with a downward slant, as the mark revealed.
But the old drummer shook his head. "Those are no spent balls. Some murderous rebel is aiming at us."
"I don't know. And our best way is not to stop to inquire, but to get out of this as soon as possible."
"Frank!" groaned the burden they were bearing.
"They were not all lies, I'm sorry to say, Jack. But even if they were, I forgive you from my very soul."
Jack groaned, and said no more. Assistants now came to meet them, and Frank, who was almost exhausted with the fatigue of bringing his comrade so far, was relieved of the burden. The road was near, and Jack was soon laid upon a stretcher.
"Frank!" he gasped, rolling his eyes again, "don't leave me! For God's sake, stay by me, Frank!"
So Frank kept by his side, while the men bore him along the road to a tree, where the surgeon had hung up his red flag, and established his hospital.
Ellis had just undergone the amputation of his mangled hand, without once flinching under the surgeon's knife, and he remained on the spot to encourage Winch.
"If I die," began Jack, stirring himself more than he had been observed to do before. "Frank, do you hear me?"
"What is it, Jack?" asked the sympathizing boy.
"If I die, don't let me be buried on this miserable island!"
"But you are not going to die," said the surgeon, kindly, cutting away the clothes from his neck.
Mr. Sinjin assisted, while Frank anxiously awaited the result of the examination. The surgeon looked puzzled. There was blood, but not any fresh blood--and no wound! Not so much as a scratch of the skin.
Jack in the mean time was groaning dismally.
"What are you making that noise for?" exclaimed the surgeon, sharply. "There isn't a hurt about you!"
"Ain't I shot?" cried Jack, starting up, as much astonished as any body; for he had really believed he was a dead man. "I was hit, I know! and I swooned away."