“And after you knocked him out what happened?” asked the colonel.
Dick looked sheepish.
“He lay so still I was afraid he was dead,” he replied. “I ran down to a brook, filled my cap with water, and returned with it in the hope of reviving him. I got there just in time to see him vanishing in the bushes. Pursuit was hopeless.”
“He was clever,” said the Colonel. “Have you any idea who he was?”
“He told me. He was Victor Woodville, the son of Colonel John Woodville, C.S.A., the owner of this house.”
“Ah!” said Colonel Winchester, and then after a moment’s thought he added: “It’s just as well he escaped. I should not have known what to do with him. But we have you, Dick, to thank for giving the alarm. Now, go inside and change to some dry clothes, if you have any in your baggage, and if not dry yourself before a fire they’re going to build in the kitchen.”
“Will you pardon me for speaking of something, sir?”
“Certainly. Go ahead.”
“I think the appearance of young Woodville here indicates the nearness of Forrest or some other strong cavalry force.”
“You’re right, Dick, my officers and I are agreed upon it. I have doubled the watch, but now get yourself to that fire and then to sleep.”
Dick obeyed gladly enough. The night had turned raw and chill, and the cold water dripped from his clothes as he walked. But first he produced Woodville’s pistol and handed it to Colonel Winchester.
“There’s my antagonist’s pistol, sir,” he said. “You’ll see his initials on it.”
“Yes, here they are,” said Colonel Winchester: “‘V.W., C.S.A.’ It’s a fine weapon, but it’s yours, Dick, as you captured it.”
Dick took it and went to the kitchen, where the big fire had just begun to blaze. He was lucky enough to be the possessor of an extra uniform, and before he changed into it-they slept with their clothes on-he roasted himself before those glorious coals. Then, as he was putting on the fresh uniform, Warner and Pennington appeared.
“What would you recommend as best for the patient, Doctor,” said Warner gravely to Pennington.
“I think such a distinguished surgeon as you will agree with me that his wounds should first be washed and bathed thoroughly in cold water.”
“And after that a plentiful application of soothing liniment.”
“Yes, Doctor. That is the best we can do with the simple medicines we have, but it especially behooves us to reduce the size of that left ear, or some of the boys will say that we have a case of elephantiasis on our hands.”
“While you’re reducing the size of it you might also reduce the pain in it,” said Dick.
“We will,” said Pennington; “we’ve got some fine horse liniment here. I brought it all the way from Nebraska with me, and if it’s good for horses it ought to be good for prize fighters, too. That was surely a hefty chap who fought you. If you didn’t have his pistol as proof I’d say that he gave you a durned good licking. Isn’t this a pretty cut down the right cheek bone, George?”
“Undoubtedly, but nothing can take away the glory of that left ear. Why, if Dick could only work his ears he could fan himself with it beautifully. When I meet that Woodville boy I’m going to congratulate him. He was certainly handy with his fists.”
“Go on, fellows,” said Dick, good-naturedly. “In a week I won’t have a wound or a sign of a scar. Then I’ll remember what you’ve said to me and I’ll lick you both, one after the other.”
“Patient is growing delirious, don’t you think so, Doctor?” said Warner to Pennington.
“Beyond a doubt. Violent talk is always proof of it. Better put him to bed. Spread his two blankets before the fire, and he can sleep there, while every particle of cold and stiffness is being roasted out of him.”
“You boys are very good to me,” said Dick gratefully.
“It’s done merely in the hope that your gratitude will keep you from giving us the licking you promised,” said Pennington.