“Better shake hands like a man,” said old Sam.
“Convict or no convict, he’s only give you what you asked for.”
“I’ll let him see,” snarled Brookes; and he went off toward the stable.
“Gone there to one of the buckets,” growled old Sam. “I was going to take you there. Here, let’s have a look at your head.”
“Oh, it’s nothing—nothing,” said Leather hastily.
“Nothing! when you’re bleeding like a pig. Come along to the bothy, and let’s bathe and tie it up. Why, Leather, this looks as if he’d used the axe! Reg’lar clean cut.”
“No, it was with the fork handle. There, it will do me good. Let out some of the hot, mad blood.”
“Ay,” said old Sam, guiding him, for he staggered, to the men’s bothy, and bathing and tying up the wound. “It’s a pity, my lad. I wish you hadn’t hit back, for you see if he should turn nasty and complain—”
Leather looked at him wildly.
“And him like that, there’s no knowing what might come.”