“Big Dan there,” he whispered.
“But the doctor?” whispered Carey, excitedly.
“Jackum find,” was the confident reply, and with a quick nod he bounded to one of the open saloon skylights, lay down, and edged himself through the slit, let his body go down, hung by his hands a moment or two, and let go, dropping into the saloon without a sound.
Carey and Bostock stood listening for some minutes, but there was no sign made, and though the boy lay down on the deck with his ear close to the opening he could hear nothing; and at last he rose and made for the cabin entrance, to kneel down and listen there to the low, deep groans uttered from time to time.
It was horrible, and in spite of the pain he was in Carey was ready to risk everything and rush down to put an end to his suspense.
Just when this was unendurable he felt a light touch upon his shoulder, and turned to find the second black pointing upward to the quarter-deck.
Carey went up at once, and found that Jackum was just squeezing himself edgewise beneath the hinged opening of the saloon skylight.
He grinned with satisfaction.
“Find doc-tor,” he said, fumbling in his girdle. “Big Dan shoot—shoot.”
“Not killed—mumkull?” whispered Carey, in a voice full of the anguish he felt.