Close to me, and reclining against a convenient hillock, was my friend Charlie. He still looked ghastly pale, and his bandaged head seemed to add to the impression; but he was evidently better, and there was life in his handsome dark eyes. At his feet lay my revolver and the cutlass I had given him. Stretched on the ground at the distance of some yards were the bodies of our late enemies, now powerless for evil.
“That chap must have taken your wind jolly well, Jack,” said my friend, pointing to one of the corpses; “but you may thank your stars that he didn’t take your life. By Jove, he went for you like a wild beast!”
“How did it happen?” I asked in a rather bewildered manner. “Who shot him, and where did the pistol come from?”
“Balfour will never tell you,” remarked the surgeon, whose name was Grant; “he’s much too modest a fellow. The truly brave and the truly great are not given to blowing their own trumpets. I’m afraid I’m just the opposite, and blow a tremendous blast on mine whenever an opportunity offers. Not having been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I have to—”
“Blow upon a silver trumpet,” interrupted Charlie rather rudely.
“Ah, I see you’re recovering rapidly,” said Dr. Grant good-naturedly, giving me at the same time a sly wink.
“But do you mean to say that Charlie shot him!” I exclaimed excitedly; “he had no firearms.”
“Ah, that’s where the story comes in,” said the surgeon with a laugh. “Balfour saw that you were about to be spitted upon yonder fellow’s sword, and also saw that I was engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand conflict with the other villain, and was powerless to render you any assistance; so what does he do but crawl out and gain possession of the revolver which had been dashed from your hand at the first shock of conflict—as Sir Walter Scott would have said. To his delight he found that there was still one cylinder loaded; but there was not a second to lose, for your end was at hand. The deadly shot was fired, and so truly sped the bullet to its billet that the fellow for whom it was destined fell dead without so much as a cry or a groan. It was a masterpiece. I’ve no hesitation in saying so, upon my word.”
“Charlie,” I cried emphatically, “you’re the best chum I ever had, and I owe my life to you!”
“What nonsense!” exclaimed Charlie. “Do you suppose I was going to sit still and see you stuck like a pig? Not if I know it, old chap.”