Now I had a job of my own to do, I didn’t mind the beastly darkness, and gradually gave up jumping with funk whenever some natives glided past, speaking softly to my little chap, and then hurrying away to the right. I’d hear, ’_Yuesencia!_’ ’_Hermano!_’ ’_Don Geraldio!_’ and they’d disappear. The field-gun had stopped firing, but rifle firing was continuous, and seemed to be travelling away towards El Castellan. Once we met quite a large party, with an officer, all hurrying after Zorilla, and he would not let us pass till he’d struck a match and seen my face. That was enough for him, and he passed on, full of apologies. This made me think, more than ever, what a ’boss’ old Gerald was, and what a ’boss’ I was, too, simply because I had the same coloured hair. Somehow or other, after barking my shins and elbows a dozen times, we got to a small clearing, where there was a kind of a hut and a jolly welcome light burning in it. Some one shouted, ’_Quien Vive!_’ my guide answered, ’_Paisano! La Buena Presidente!_’ and a score of natives thronged round us, bowing, taking my horse, and saying, ’_Buenas_,’[#] _Yuesencia!_’ I went into the hut, and found about fifteen men lying on the ground or propped up against the wall—cavalry men all of them—and I spotted my little friend, although he’d grown a scraggy beard. [#] Short for ’buenas noches!’ = good-evening. He was as white as a sheet, and seemed rather ’off his head.’ ’_El Medico_,’ he sang out, as I went in—all of them sang out, ’_El Medico_,’ holding out their hands to make me notice them. ’William Wilson,’ I said, and held out the cigarette case he’d sent me, but he only looked at it vacantly, muttered, ’_El Medico!_’ again, and his chin dropped on his chest I thought he was dying, and was in a terrible stew. I couldn’t see any wound about him, and felt his arms; they were all right, and I felt his legs. Ugh! then I knew, for half-way above his left knee the bone was sticking through a rent in his breeches and they were sticky with blood. He groaned when I touched it, muttering, ’_El Medico_’—’_San Fernando!_’ ’_Ag-ua! Agua!_’ One of the _machetos_ brought him some water. I scratched my head, I didn’t know what to do, and he went on rambling, ’_Zorilla_,’ ’_El Castellar_,’ ’_William Wilson_,’ ’_Don Geraldio_’—’_El Medico_’—’_San Fernando_.’ ’All right, old chap, I’ll get you to San Fernando if I can,’ I said to myself. Well, I knew enough about ’first aid’ to lash the two legs firmly together, and somehow managed to make the natives understand that I wanted a stretcher. They made a rough litter out of branches in next to no time. I found a blanket tied to the saddle of a dead horse outside the hut, and covered the litter with it, and then I told off four of the most sturdy of the _machete_ men to carry him. They obeyed me like lambs.