"Well, he is rather cut up, and you rather rubbed it into him, you
know," I said, for I thought Moore a little hard.

"Did I say anything untrue?"

"Well, not untrue, perhaps; but truth is like medicine--not always good
to take." At which Moore was silent till his patient needed him again.

It was a weary day. The intense pain from the wound, and the high fever
from the poison in his blood kept the poor fellow in delirium till
evening, when The Duke rode up with the Fort doctor. Jingo appeared
as nearly played out as a horse of his spirit ever allowed himself to
become.

"Seventy miles," said The Duke, swinging himself off the saddle. "The
doctor was ten miles out. How is he?"

I shook my head, and he led away his horse to give him a rub and a feed.

Meantime the doctor, who was of the army and had seen service, was
examining his patient. He grew more and more puzzled as he noted the
various symptoms. Finally he broke out:

"What have you been doing to him? Why is he in this condition? This
fleabite doesn't account for all," pointing to the wound.

We stood like children reproved. Then The Duke said, hesitatingly:

"I fear, doctor, the life has been a little too hard for him. He had a