He leaned back and panted.

"The brute touched me--under the thigh, here.

I doubt I'm bleeding." He closed his eyes and fainted away.
They found, on lifting him, that he spoke truth.

The bull had gored him in the leg: a nasty wound beginning at the back of the knee, running upward and missing the main artery by a bare inch.

A squad of soldiers had run out, hearing the shot, and these bore him into the Citadel, Master Archibald limping behind.
The crowd began to disperse, and I made my way back to Miss Plinlimmon.
"A providential escape!" said she on hearing my report.