"Well, here is another, Doctor, who will be dead in a few minutes,
if I am not mistaken," said the Sergeant.

"Let me see," said the doctor, turning to Rosenblatt. "Heavens
above!" he cried, as his knees sank in the bloody mud, "it's blood!"

He passed round the other side of the unconscious man, got out his
syringe and gave him a hypodermic. In a few minutes Rosenblatt
showed signs of life. He began to breathe heavily, then to cough
and spit mouthfuls of blood.

"Ha, lung, I guess," said the doctor, examining a small clean wound
high up in the left breast. "Better send for an ambulance, Sergeant,
and hurry them up. The sooner we get him to the hospital, the better.
And here is another man. What's wrong with him?"

Beyond Rosenblatt lay a black-bearded man upon his face, breathing
heavily. The doctor turned him over.

"He's alive anyway, and," after examination, "I can't find any
wound. Heart all right, nothing wrong with him, I guess, except
that he's got a bad jag on."

A cursory examination of the crowd revealed wounds in plenty,
but nothing serious enough to demand the doctor's attention.

"Now then," said the Sergeant briskly, "I want to get your names and
addresses. You can let me have them?" he continued, turning to Jacob.

"Me not know all mens."