Joyce soon appeared with the
water, towels, and bandages. The Doctor had already taken off his coat and
rolled up his sleeves, ready for work. Although he was a country
practitioner, he was a skilful surgeon. Carefully he washed away the
blood, then clipped away the matted hair from around the wound. It seemed
to Joyce a long time that he worked, but at last the wound was dressed and
bandaged.

"The ball did not penetrate the brain," he said, as he finished, "nor do I
think the skull is injured, although the ball plowed along it for some
distance. Fortunately it was a small bullet, one from a revolver,
probably, which hit him. It cut a number of small arteries in its course,
and that is the reason he has bled so much. An hour more and he would have
been beyond my skill."

"Will he live now?" asked Joyce.

"The chances are against him. If saved at all, it will only be by the best
of nursing."

"He can be taken into the house now, can't he?" she asked.

"Yes, but you had better first let a tub of water be brought, and clean
underclothes, and a night shirt. He needs a bath as much as anything."

Joyce had the men get the water, while she procured some underclothes
which belonged to her brother. Calhoun's clothes were now removed, clothes
which had not been off him for a month.

"Here is a belt," said one of the men; "it looks as if it might contain
money," and he was proceeding to examine it when the Doctor forbade him.

"Give it to Miss Joyce," he said; "the fellow is her prisoner."

The belt was handed over rather reluctantly. Calhoun having been bathed,
Joyce was called, and told that her prisoner was ready for her.

"Bring him in, the chamber is all prepared," was her answer.

Calhoun was brought in and placed in a large, cool upper chamber.

"This is mighty nice for a Rebel," said one of the men, looking around.
"My Jake didn't get this good care when he was shot at Stone River."

"Too blame nice for a Morgan thief," mumbled the other.

"Shut up," said the Doctor; "remember what Miss Joyce has done for our
boys. Worked her fingers off for them. This man, or rather boy, for he
can't be over twenty, was brought to her door. Would you have him left to
die?"

The men hung their heads sheepishly, and went out. They were not
hard-hearted men, but they were bitter against Morgan, and any one who
rode with him.

"Now I must go," said the old Doctor kindly, taking Joyce's hand. "You
have done to this young m