All his consciousness seemed centred in the burning, throbbing pain of his arm.

He felt himself laid upon the gravel; the sleeve cut from his shoulder, the cool sensation of the hot and bursting skin bared to the night air, and then a soft, cool, and indescribable pressure upon a wound he had not felt before.

A voice followed,--high, lazily petulant, and familiar to him, and yet one he strove in vain to recall.
"De Lawdy-Gawd save us, Miss Sally! Wot yo' doin' dah?
Chile! Chile! Yo' 'll kill yo'se'f, shuah!" The pressure continued, strange and potent even through his pain, and was then withdrawn.

And a voice that thrilled him said:-- "It's the only thing to save him! Hush, ye chattering black crow! Say anything about this to a living soul, and I'll have yo' flogged! Now trot out the whiskey bottle and pour it down him.".