“Why, Taffy, old feller, how come ye to get hit there?” A roar of laughter drowned Jones’s indignant reply. “Taffy, my lad, why, I didn’t think you vos the chap as vould turn tail.” “It’s a lie,” roared Jones, in a voice of extreme agony and exasperation. “I didn’t turn tail; nor I haven’t not never turned tail. Only jest turned round to load, and felt all at wance jest as if somebody had bin and give me a kick——” A universal roar drowned the conclusion of the sentence. “Mr Pledget,” said I, “there seems to be here another case, soliciting your attention.” The men made way. Pledget advanced with great seriousness; and the laughter, though less vociferous, became tenfold in intensity, at the rich idea of Pledget’s investigating and doctoring Jones’s wound. Jones, at the sight of the doctor, in his alarm and anguish set up a regular hullabaloo, almost running into a cry. The doctor, regardless of Jones’s fears and lacerated feelings, began gravely to question him—made serious attempts and approaches to ascertain particulars. Two or three of the fellows, positively overcome with the scene, threw themselves down by the road-side in an agony. One, I really thought, would have laughed himself into a fit. He turned red, crimson, purple, almost black in the face; still, in his bursts, casting his eyes, from time to time, towards Jones and the doctor. Jones, leaning on the mule’s back, screwing and twisting first this way then that, evaded and defeated all the doctor’s approaches; while the men, taking a little extra freedom after our glorious victory, renewed their vociferous merriment. Pledget, at length, began to lose his patience. “Come, my good fellow,” said he; “this won’t do, you know.” He then looked round at the soldiers, and made a sign. Four of them stepped forward, seized Jones by the arms and legs, and bore him off to the road-side—struggling, fighting, kicking, roaring, screeching, his agony increasing as he saw the moment at hand when he must be doctored. Pledget humanely pointed to some bushes close by, and the men carried Jones behind them. There the bullet was extracted at once. But how Pledget proceeded, or what was the precise character of the wound, of course we, who remained in the road, had no opportunity of perceiving. The progress of the operation, however, was marked by occasional shouts and yells from Jones; and in five minutes he hobbled forth with a rueful aspect, but looking “as well as could be expected.” Pledget almost immediately followed, and handed the bullet to Jones. “There, my man,” said he; “put that in your pocket.” There still was something, though, upon Jones’s mind. He limped down to the edge of the pond with an eager, anxious look; and began prowling about, examining among the reeds and bushes, right and left. “Jones, hadn’t you better keep yourself quiet? Sit down, man.”