He continued to advance, and presently they were bending over a dismal looking object, undoubtedly a man who might be a member of the crew, judging from his rough sea clothes and his bare feet.
There could be no question but that he had been in the fight, since his face was bloody and his general appearance betokened rough treatment. Undoubtedly he had been senseless at the time the tear-gas penetrated every part of the small vessel, and was only now coming to.
Jack lost no time in examining the pitiful looking object while Perk waited to hear what his verdict would be. After all the old fighter bore no malice toward any of these reckless men who were so assiduously engaged in breaking the law of the land by running contraband goods into Uncle Sam’s domains and he was just as willing to bind up the wounds of this luckless adventurer as if the other had only been an ordinary sailor in sore trouble.
“Nothing serious, it seems,” was Jack’s decision. “He has had a pretty hard knock that started the blood from his nose and as like as not laid him out here senseless for there’s a fine big lump on his head.”
“So we’ll have one prisoner to fetch in after all,” chortled Perk, as if pleased by the prospect of being able to produce a witness to testify to the work they had just accomplished.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SPOILS OF VICTORY
“Take hold, Perk,” continued Jack, without losing any time. “We’ve got to get this poor chap out in the open air for it’s pretty bad down below here, and bothers my eyes more or less.”
So between them they managed to carry the wounded rum-runner to the deck, where he was laid down, still groaning, although showing no other signs of life.
“Step lively, brother, and see if you can run across any fresh water, so’s to pour a little down his throat,” Jack went on to say. “I can dip up some salty stuff by reaching down over the gun’l and mop his forehead so’s to fetch him around.”