And this in the darkness; for the bright stars above and the phosphorescent atoms with which the black waters were dotted did not relieve the deep gloom produced by the overhanging cliffs.
“Hurt, Vince?” whispered Mike at last.
“Yes, ever so.”
“Oh! Want a handkerchief to bind it up?” cried Mike, in horror.
“Well, it does bleed—feels wet—but it don’t matter much.”
“But it does,” said Mike excitedly. “Where did it hit you?”
“On the shin; but it didn’t hit me—I hit it.”
“What! The bullet?”
“Go along! don’t joke now. I came down against an oar. Oh, I see: you thought he hit me when he fired.”
“Of course.”