"It is a bullet wound received in the battle."
"The blood upon his bosom--his cheeks--you see--'tis fresh?"
"I repeat it is not _his_. I speak truly."
My earnest utterance seemed to make an impression upon her.
"Whose then? whose blood?" she cried out.
"That of a man who was in the act of killing Calros, when my pistol
frustrated his intent. I fear after all he may have been successful,
though not exactly according to his design. He intended to have stabbed
the wounded man with his _machete_."