Brave Hearts, by Robertson Gray - Softcover

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1873. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XVI. A Night's Work. WHEN Philip Russell recovered consciousness, he was lying upon a cot at one side of the sittingroom of the Home Station. Stephen was skilfully cutting away his boots from his feet, and the slashed remains of a coat on the floor showed that this garment had been removed in a similar manner. Kate was bending over him with a gaze of anxious tenderness, which she suddenly turned aside when he opened his eyes--so suddenly that he wondered afterwards whether he had seen or dreamed it. The stage-driver's bearing had that high-strung air which was natural to him in moments of emergency. A sailor would have said he had called all hands on deck. Every faculty of his mind was alert to meet the crowding duties of the hour, so sadly disturbed and complicated by this new catastrophe. If it had been his plan to warn Kate of coming danger, and to get her away from the Station, that notion had been of necessity given up; the present imperative business of both of them was to look after the sufferer. As Philip revived, Stephen said cheerily--" I told you so, Kate; he's come to. Now let's see what's the damage. Lucky I know something about breaks and bruises." With that he commenced a rapid and not unskilful examination of the patient. "Feel faint, hey? That's natural. Hm--this cut on your head's no 'count. Wash it, Kate; vinegar and brown paper's too expensive. Can't move this arm. No wonder; it's out at the shoulder. Nothing broke there, though. Ribs all right; now that's queer. When I break anything, it's a rib. So many of 'em, you know; the chances are always in favour of a rib. Thighs, knee-pans? Thank the Lord, they're not pulverised. I 'm up to most tricks in the surgery line; quite a bone-sharp, in fact; but thighs and knee-pans git me,...