All this, however, is only conjecture; the certain fact was that poor Tom Strachan had a wide wound in the side, and that Green dared not move him much, because it made the life-stream well out afresh. There was nothing for it but to wait till medical aid arrived. It is surprising what trivial ideas and memories, such as tags of old songs, or anecdotes more or less appropriate to the occasion, will run in our heads when we are anxious about anything, and are forced to remain in inactivity. All the time certain lines of Sir Walter Scott would worry Green, as he knelt there by his friend: "That spear wound has our master sped; And see the deep cut on his head. Good-night to Marmion." Over and over and over again rang the lines, till Strachan himself dissipated them by moving his hand and murmuring. It was evident that what he wanted was water, and so Green put his gourd to his mouth, and after a refreshing draught, consciousness returned to the wounded man's eyes. Then Green gently disengaged the sword-knot from his wrist, and, unbuckling his belt, returned the weapon to its scabbard, not without having to wipe it first. Strachan made a movement of his hand again towards it, evidently knowing that something was taken from him. But Green showed him the sword, and said, "It is all right, I am only wiping it for you;" and the other was placid again immediately, and closed his eyes. It was not long before the surgeon came, and they got Strachan's kharkee jacket off, and bandaged him up. "He has lost a lot of blood," said the surgeon, "and that is why he fainted, probably." "Will it kill him?" "Not necessarily at all. It is a nice clean wound, and all depends upon how far it has penetrated. Of course, a man cannot have a sharp instrument thrust into his body without some danger to the vital organs. The pressing matter, however, is how to lower him from this. I have got a stretcher at the bottom all right, but the sides of this rock are pretty steep for a badly wounded man to get down." "Yes," said Green. "But I have examined carefully all round it, and this is the best place." And he indicated a corner where there were ledges which formed steps; and here they carried Tom Strachan, and lowered him as gently and carefully as might be. They could not avoid a jolt or two, which elicited a moan; but it was not far to the bottom, and there was the stretcher. Just as they had managed to get him settled the sun sank, and it was amidst the usual display of orange, crimson, and purple fireworks that they picked their way amongst the corpses which strewed the nullah. It was another job to carry their burden up the steep sides of this, but they managed it before darkness settled down on the battle-field.