"Fly!" he whispered. Wounded sorely as he was, his thoughts were all for me and none for himself.
"There is no need, my dear friend. There's no one to follow us. Can you bear for me to lift you on to my horse? We're safe."
"I'm glad. I'm not hurt much," he whispered, trying to smile.
I lifted him in my arms, and, drawing my horse to a stone by the side of the road, managed to mount with him; and then, saving him all in my power from the jolting of the horse, I walked up the rest of the hill and over to the Servian station-house.
The men turned out to meet us.
"My friend is sorely wounded," said I.
"I heard the firing, but my orders are not to interfere," said the officer in command.
"The outrage was committed on Servian territory," I replied.
"I have strict orders not to cause any trouble with the Bulgarians just at present," he said, as if by way of apologetic explanation of his not having come to my aid. "We don't inquire too closely into what is done east of the station-house."
"Can you give me a place where my friend can rest?"
He looked uneasy at the question and hesitated.
"Can't he bear any further journey?"
"He is badly wounded, sir," I returned, with some indignation.
"I can do better than give him a bed here. My men shall carry him on a litter down to the village at the foot of the hill, where there is a priest who knows something of surgery, and he can get medical aid."
"As quick as you can, for God's sake!" I said.
