CHAPTER VIII

THE COWARD

“Great heavens!” gasped Mr. Merrick, running toward the doctor.  “Are you hit?”

Gys looked up at him appealingly and nodded.

“Where did it strike you?  Was it a bullet—­or what?”

The doctor wrung his hands, moaning pitifully.  Uncle John bent over him.

“Tell me,” he said.  “Tell me, Gys!”

“I—­I’m scared, sir—­s-s-scared stiff.  It’s that yellow s-s-s-streak in me; I—­I—­can’t help it, sir.”  Then he collapsed, crouching lifelessly close to the sand.

Uncle John was amazed.  He drew back with such an expression of scorn that Gys, lying with face upward, rolled over to hide his own features in the sand.  But his form continued to twist and shake convulsively.

Patsy came up with her soldier, whose gaudy uniform proclaimed him an officer.  He had a rugged, worn face, gray hair and mustache, stern eyes.  His left side was torn and bleeding where a piece of shell had raked him from shoulder to knee.  No moan did he utter as Mr. Merrick and the girl assisted him to one of the swinging beds, and then Patsy, with white, set face but steady hands, began at once to cut away the clothing and get at the wound.  This was her first practical experience and she meant to prove her mettle or perish in the attempt.

Uncle John skipped over to the sand bank and clutched Gys savagely by the collar.

“Get up!” he commanded.  “Here’s a man desperately wounded, who needs your best skill—­and at once.”

Gys pulled himself free and sat up, seeming dazed for the moment.  Then he rubbed his head briskly with both hands, collected his nerve and slowly rose to his feet.  He cast fearful glances at the firing line, but the demand for his surgical skill was a talisman that for a time enabled him to conquer his terror.  With frightened backward glances he ran to the ambulance and made a dive into it as if a pack of wolves was at his heels.

Safely inside, one glance at the wounded man caused Gys to stiffen suddenly.  He became steady and alert and noting that Patsy had now bared a portion of the gaping wound the doctor seized a thermos flask of hot water and in a moment was removing the clotted blood in a deft and intelligent manner.

Now came Jones and Maurie bearing the man they had picked up.  As they set the stretcher down, Uncle John came over.

“Shall we put him inside?” asked Mr. Merrick.

“No use, I think,” panted the Belgian.

“Where’s the doctor?” asked Ajo.

Kelsey, who had been busy elsewhere, now approached and looked at the soldier on the stretcher.

“The man is dead,” he said.  “He doesn’t need us now.”

“Off with him, then!” cried Maurie, and they laid the poor fellow upon the sand and covered him with a cloth.  “Come, then,” urged the little chauffeur, excitedly, “lots more out there are still alive.  We get one quick.”