He was asleep, yet far
from comfortable. The bandage I had put around his head had been made
from strips of soiled towel, and, having collected sundry bloody spots,
it was an unsightly affair. There was a blotch of dried blood down one
side of Steele's face. His shirt bore more dark stains, and in one place
was pasted fast to his shoulder where a bandage marked the location of
his other wound. A number of green flies were crawling over him and
buzzing around his head. He looked helpless, despite his giant size; and
certainly a great deal worse off than I had intimated, and, in fact,
than he really was.
Miss Sampson gasped when she saw him and both her hands flew to her
breast.
"Girls, don't make any noise," I whispered. "I'd rather he didn't wake
suddenly to find you here. Go round behind the rocks there. I'll wake
him, and call you presently."
They complied with my wish, and I stepped down to Steele and gave him a
little shake. He awoke instantly.
"Hello!" I said, "Want a drink?"
"Water or champagne?" he inquired.
I stared at him. "I've some champagne behind the rocks," I added.
"Water, you locoed son of a gun!"
He looked about as thirsty as a desert coyote; also, he looked flighty.
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