to the other's common sense, all his worries were dispelled,
and he saw things with an eye which was not jaundiced. He had, in fact,
reached the stage at which others in a similar position had arrived
before. He could see that killing was not a joyous trade, that no
ordinary human being lightly undertook it, and only when circumstances
made it imperative that he should act so as to protect his own life and
that of his friend. Then there was no blame to be attached to the one
who had shed the blood of his fellow, so long as he was not a wanton
aggressor.

"Here we are," he called out as he came along. "Good day, Meinheer.
Hold the bowl, please, while I get the bandages undone. Ah, here's the
pin. Now, sit up, sir. That's right. We'll have it done in a jiffy."

Very carefully and skilfully he unwrapped the bandages, and presently
the dressing was removed from the shoulder. Mr Pepson lifted the
glass, arranged it so that he could obtain a clear view, and then
grunted.

"Humph!" he said, with one of his inscrutable smiles. "A mere scratch.
Take the probe, Dick. Now dip it into that other bowl which has the
carbolic in it. That's the way. Gently put it into the wound. No.
Don't be nervous. I'll soon shout if it hurts. Press gently towards
the other place where the bullet came out. Hah! A mere flesh wound,
barely an inch deep. Not even that. I'm lucky! The shoulder is
scarcely stiff, and a little rest in a sling will put it right in a
week. A schoolboy would laugh at it. Put on fresh dressings and we'll
inspect the head. Lucky that I'm such a surgeon!"

He was as cheery as possible, and thanks to his lightheartedness his
friends, who had been looking on and helping in the task with some
misgivings, began to feel that their comrade was, after all, not so
badly hurt.

"I tell you that it was only the crack on my skull that mattered,"
persisted Mr Pepson. "The bullet slipped through my shoulder, a mere
wound of the cuticle, and then happened to glance against my scalp and
skull. A man can't stand that. It knocks him stupid. That's why I
fell, and that's why our young friend had to help me. But it doesn't
explain why he--a mere youngster--pulled me through so well, and why he
stuck to me when many another would have bolted to save his own skin.
Heh? What did you say, Meinheer?"

"Zat we hab a drasure. Zat Meinheer Dick will be a gread man one of
zese days. When he is big like me, when he has