“I say, he didn’t shoot you, did he?”
“Yes—through the arm,” said Leigh faintly. “Better directly. Can you keep him down, Wilton?”
“Oh yes, I’ll keep the beggar down,” said Claud, cocking the pistol. “Do you hear, you sir? You move a hand and as sure as I’ve got you here, I’ll fire. Send for a doctor someone.”
“No, no,” cried Leigh, a little more firmly; “not yet;” and he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and folded it with one hand. “Tie this tightly round my arm.”
“You take the pistol then—that’s it—and let the brute have it if he stirs. I won’t get off him. Kneel down.”
Leigh obeyed after taking the pistol, and Claud bound the handkerchief tightly round his arm.
“Hurt you?”
“Yes; but the sickness is going off. Tighter: it will stop the bleeding.”
“All right; but I say, we had better have in a doctor,” said Claud excitedly.
“Not yet. We don’t want an expose,” said Leigh anxiously.