After that fear of his own growing weakness shut out
all else from the mind of Gregg as he felt his senses, his physical
strength, flowing out like an ebb tide to a sea which, he knew, was death.
He began to work desperately to bind up the wound and stop the flow of
blood and it was fear which gave him momentary strength to tear away his
shirt and then with his teeth and left hand rip it into strips. After that,
heedless of the pain, he constructed a rude bandage, very clumsily, for he
had to work over his shoulder. Here his teeth, once more, were almost as
useful as another hand, and as the bandage grew tight the deadly, warm
trickle along his side lessened and his fingers fell away from the last
knot. He fainted.
Chapter VII. Joan Disobeys
What he next knew was a fire of agony that wrapped his whole body and
consciousness flashed back on him. Strong arms lifted him up, up; above him
he sensed the eyes of his torturer, dim in moonlight, and he beat his
clubbed left fist into that face. After that he knew he was being dragged
onto a saddle, but a wave of pain rushed up his side and numbed his brain.
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