"Well, not untrue, perhaps; but truth is like medicine—not always good to take. "At which Moore was silent till his patient needed him again.
It was a weary day. The intense pain from the wound, and the high fever from the poison in his blood kept the poor fellow in delirium till evening, when The Duke rode up with the Fort doctor. Jingo appeared as nearly played out as a horse of his spirit ever allowed himself to become.
"Seventy miles," said The Duke, swinging himself off the saddle. "The doctor was ten miles out. How is he?"
I shook my head, and he led away his horse to give him a rub and a feed.
Meantime the doctor, who was of the army and had seen service, was examining his patient. He grew more and more puzzled as he noted the various symptoms. Finally he broke out:
"What have you been doing to him? Why is he in this condition? This fleabite doesn't account for all," pointing to the wound.
We stood like children reproved. Then The Duke said, hesitatingly:
"I fear, doctor, the life has been a little too hard for him. He had a severe nervous attack—seeing things, you know."
