Dead Man's Land Part 72

"Just a little," said Mark. "But hadn't you better do more than that?"

"No," said the doctor coolly. "There is a little poison there, and the bleeding will relieve it. It has begun to fester."

"What, so soon?" said Sir James.

"Yes," was the calm reply. "Now, Dean, I must come to you for another of your surgical instruments--the tweezers."

"Yes," cried the boy excitedly; and in his hurry he broke his thumb nail in drawing the tweezers out of the haft of the knife, for the instrument was a little rusted in.

"Now," said the doctor, as he pressed the two little spring sides of the tweezers right down into the cut and got hold of something.

"Oh! hurts!" cried Mark.

"Yes, but it would have hurt more if I had taken your finger off," said the doctor, laughing. "There we are," he continued, as he drew out a sharp glistening point and held it up in the sun. "There's your snake sting, my boy, and the little cut will soon heal up. There, suck the wound a little yourself, and draw out the poison."

"But, doctor," cried Sir James, "surely a venomous snake injects the poison through hollow fangs. Are you sure that that is a tooth?"

"No, sir," said the doctor. "That is the point of one of those exceedingly sharp thorns that we are so infested with here. Look at it;" and he held out the tweezers for everyone to examine the point.

"It's a false alarm, Mark, my lad. I can see no sign of any snake bite."

"But I felt it!" cried Mark, as he stared at the thorn.

"I can't see any mark, and if the snake did bite it was only a p.r.i.c.k with one of its tiny sharp teeth. Look, Sir James; you see there's no sign of any swelling, and no discoloration such as I believe would very soon appear after the injection of venom."

"But what's that?" said Sir James anxiously, pointing.

"That? That's a thorn p.r.i.c.k," said the doctor.

"Well, but that?"

"That's the stain from some crushed leaf."

"Well, that, then?" cried Sir James angrily at finding the doctor so ready to give explanations to his doubts.

"That's another p.r.i.c.k."

"Tut, tut, tut! Well, that?"

"That's a scratch."

"Well, that, then?" cried Sir James, almost fiercely. "There's the discoloration you said would appear."

"Oh," said the doctor, laughing; "that's dirt!"

Sir James made no answer, but s.n.a.t.c.hing a handkerchief from his pocket he moistened a corner between his lips, pa.s.sed it over the clear skin of his son's wrist, and the dark mark pa.s.sed away.

"Here, Dean," said the doctor, "hands up! That's right; draw back your shirt sleeve."

The boy obeyed.

"Look here, Sir James," said the doctor, and he pointed with the thorn he held between the tweezers. "You see that--and that--and that?"

"Oh, those are only p.r.i.c.ks I got in the bushes, sir, the other day,"

said Dean sharply.

"Yes, I see," said the doctor, "and you had better let me operate upon this one. It has begun to fester a little too."

As he spoke the doctor pressed the little dark spot which showed beneath the boy's white skin.

"Oh, you hurt!" cried Dean, flinching. "Yes, there's a thorn in there, and I see there's another half way up your arm, Mark, my lad. You had better try to pick that out with a needle. It is all a false alarm, Sir James, I am thankful to say. Snake bites are very horrible, but you must recollect that the great majority of these creatures are not furnished with poison fangs. I was in doubt, myself, at first, but the fact that the puncture was so large, and unaccompanied by another-- venomous snakes being furnished with a pair of fangs that they have the power to erect--was almost enough to prove to me that what we saw was only produced by a thorn."

"I beg your pardon, doctor," said Sir James, grasping him by the hand.

"I could not help thinking you were dreadfully callous and cool over what has been agony to me. I am afraid I was horribly disbelieving and annoyed."

"Don't apologise, sir," replied the doctor. "I did seem to treat it all very cavalierly, but I had a reason for so doing. I wanted to put heart into my patient to counteract the remarks which were being made about snake bites and treating them by amputation. Now, Mark, do you feel well enough to handle your gun again?"

"Oh, yes, quite," cried the boy, starting up; and getting possession of his rifle he raised it up, fired the remaining cartridge, and then opening the breech held it up, to treat it as a lorgnette, looking through the barrels.

"There are no snakes in here now," said the boy, speaking quite cheerfully, "but the night damp has made a lot of little specks of rust."

"Let me clean it, sir," cried Dan. "I'll wash out the barrels and give it a good 'iling."

"Yes, do," said Mark, who began to suck his finger.

"Why, I say, Mark," cried Dean, "I never thought of it before: that's the finger you asked me to get the thorn out of that day after we got back from my slip into that hole."

"Eh?" exclaimed Mark, looking at him doubtfully.

"Why, of course! Don't you remember?"

"No," said Mark. "I feel quite stupid this morning, after this."

"Try to think, my boy," cried Sir James impatiently. "It would set all our minds at rest."

"Why, to be sure, Mark," cried his cousin. "Don't you remember? You said you could not do it yourself because it was in your right finger and it was such a bungle to handle a pin with your left hand."

Mark stared at his cousin for a few moments, and gazed round at those who were waiting to hear him speak; and then a gleam of light seemed to dart from his eyes as he cried excitedly, "Why, of course! I remember now; and you couldn't get it out with the pin, and you said it was a good job too, for a bra.s.s pin was a bad thing to use, and that we would leave it till we could get a big needle from Dan, such as he used for mending his stockings."

"Hear, hear!" cried the little sailor, by way of corroboration as to his handling of a needle.

"And then we forgot all about it," cried Dean.

"Yes," cried Mark. "Oh, I say, I am sorry! What a fuss I have been making about nothing!"

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.