“Do you need me to remind you that your patient is bleeding to death?” He dropped on his knees by the man’s side and made a hurried examination. Ruth came to him directly. You understand me, Charcoal. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said.
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