Then to the stranger, and taking gentle hold of the wounded limb:  “But you need this flow of blood stanched more than anything else.  You came to me for surgical aid, of course.  Pistol-shot wound, eh? and a bad one at that.”

“Yes, I——­”

“Never mind; I’ll hear your story after your arm’s dressed and you’ve had your breakfast.  You haven’t strength for talk just now.”

Dr. Balis had his own suspicions as he ripped up the coat sleeve, bared the swollen limb, and carefully dressed the wound; but kept them to himself.  The stranger’s clothes, though much soiled and torn in several places by contact with thorns and briers, were of good material, fashionable cut, and not old or worn; his manners were gentlemanly, and his speech was that of an educated man.  But all this was no proof that he was not a villain.

“Is that mortification?” asked the sufferer, looking ruefully at the black, swollen hand and fore-arm, and wincing under the doctor’s touch as he took up the artery and tied it.

“No, no; only the stagnation of the blood.”

“Will the limb ever be good for anything again?”

“Oh yes; neither the bone nor nerve has suffered injury; the ball has glanced from the bone, passed under the nerve, and cut the humeral artery.  Your tourniquet has saved you from bleeding to death.  ’Tis well you knew enough to apply it.  The flesh is much torn where the ball passed out; but that will heal in time.”

The doctor’s task was done.  Nap had set a plate of food within reach of the stranger’s left hand, and he was devouring it like a hungry wolf.

“Now, sir,” said the good doctor, when the meal was finished, “I should like to hear how you came by that ugly wound.  I can’t deny that things look suspicious.  I know everybody, high and low, rich and poor, for miles in every direction, and so need no proof that you do not belong to the neighborhood.”

“No; a party of us, from New Orleans last, came out to visit this beautiful region.  We were roaming through a forest yesterday, looking for game, when I somehow got separated from the rest, lost my way, darkness came on, and wondering hither and thither in the vain effort to find my comrades, tumbling over logs and fallen trees, scratched and torn by brambles, almost eaten up by mosquitos, I thought I was having a dreadful time of it.  But worse was to come; for I presently found myself in a swamp up to my knees in mud and water, and in the pitchy darkness tumbling over another fallen tree, struck my revolver, which I had foolishly been carrying in my coat pocket:  it went off and shot me in the arm, as you see.  That must have been early in the night; and what with loss of blood, pain, fatigue, and long fasting, I had but little strength when daylight came and I could see to get out of swamp and woods, and come on here.”

The doctor listened in silence, his face telling nothing of his thoughts.