The entrance to his wound was so
small that Church could not insert enough of the gauze packing to
stop the flow of blood.
"I'm afraid I'll have to make this hole larger, he said to the boy,
"or you'll bleed to death."
"All right," the trooper answered, "I guess you know your business."
The boy stretched out on his back and lay perfectly quiet while
Church, with a pair of curved scissors, cut away the edges of the
wound. His patient neither whimpered nor swore, but stared up at the
sun in silence. The bullets were falling on every side, and the
operation was a hasty one, but the trooper made no comment until
Church said, "We'd better get out of this; can you stand being
carried?"
"Do you think you can carry me?" the trooper asked.
"Yes."
"Well," exclaimed the boy admiringly, "you certainly know your
business!"
Another of the Rough Riders was brought to the dressing station with
a shattered ankle, and Church, after bandaging it, gave him his
choice of riding down to Siboney on a mule, or of being carried, a
day later, on a litter.
