“Just hear him,” groaned Tim. “I do believe, if there had only been three dozen he’d jump for joy. Oh! horrors upon horrors accumulate.”
“How many wounded?”
“We have found six.”
“Only half a dozen, that is not a great number,” said Death-wing; “there ought to be three or four dozen, at least.”
“Yes, so there would have been, Death-wing; but those who were slightly wounded jumped into the water, or into their boats, at the hazard of drowning or breaking their necks, rather than remain in our hands.”
“Ha!” said the grim chief. “They know us of old.”
“Hark! how the villain sighs,” said poor Tim. “I shouldn’t wonder if he hasn’t got tears in his eyes over it because they wouldn’t stay behind to be skinned alive, poor devils.”
“I wish we had but one sound man among the six prisoners,” said Death-wing. “I should like to make an example of him on the spot.”
“Oh-h!” groaned Tim, “I’m in for it this time; they’ll cut me limb from limb; but it’s better to die here like a rat in this barrel than to get into their hands.”
Tim, up to the present moment had not dared to poke his long nose out of his hiding-place, yet, out of curiosity, he now did, so as to see what they were about to do with their wounded prisoners.