"Hold my horse, I will soon see." So saying, he dismounted and knelt by the woman.

There was a wound on her forehead, and her face was covered with blood.

Rupert ran to a stream that trickled by the side of the road, dipped his handkerchief in water, and returning, wiped the blood from the face and wound.
"It is a pistol bullet, I imagine," he said to him; "but I do not think the ball has entered her head; it has, I think, glanced off.
Fasten the horses up to that rail, Hugh, get some water in your hands, and dash it in her face." The peasant paid no attention to what was being done, but sat absorbed in grief; mechanically patting the child beside him.
"That's it, Hugh.

Now another.

I do believe she is only stunned.
Give me that flask of spirits out of my holster." Hugh again dashed water in the woman's face, and Rupert distinctly saw a quiver in her eyelid as he did so.