"Who's there?" said Oswald, looking into the pit.
"It's me, it's Corbould," replied the man.
"Are you hurt?"
"Yes, badly," replied Corbould; "when I fell, my gun went off, and the
ball has gone through my thigh. I have almost bled to death."
Humphrey went for the ladder, which was at hand, and, with much
exertion on the part of the whole four of them, they contrived to drag
out Corbould, who groaned heavily with pain. A handkerchief was tied
tightly round his leg, to prevent any further bleeding, and they gave
him some water, which revived him.
"Now, what's to be done?" said Oswald; "we can never get him home."
"I will tell you," said Humphrey, walking with him aside. "It will not
do for any of these men to know our cottage, and we can not take them
there. Desire them to remain with the man, while you go for a cart to
carry him home. We will go to the cottage, give Billy his supper, and
then return with him in the cart, and bring your men something to eat.
Then I will go with you, and bring the cart back again before
daylight. It will be a night's work, but it will be the safest plan."
"I think so, too," replied Oswald, who desired the men to wait till
his return, as he was going to borrow a cart, and then set off with
Humphrey.
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