“I shouted and rushed at him, but he fired twice before I could reach him. I felt a tremendous blow on the leg, but I closed with him and we fell together, struggling down step by step to the saloon door, where I loosed my grasp and rolled in, to lie half insensible; but I heard the door banged to and locked on the outside. Then a deathly feeling of sickness came over me, and I lay wondering at the sounds I heard as of water splashing, as if bucket after bucket was dashed down to wash something away.
“That sound saved my life, Carey,” said the doctor, after a pause, “for it seemed to revive me to a sense of what was wrong, and I crawled from the dreadful pool in which I lay, to tear a strip from the tablecloth and staunch the bleeding, before I fainted away, to be revived again by hearing a horrible crash as if someone had slipped upon the wet stairs. The door was nearly driven in, but the fall continued, and I could hear Mallam cursing horribly as he tried to get up, but only to fall back and lie silent for a time. I must have fainted again, but the desire for life was strong, and I forced myself to see to my injury. It’s a horrible wound, Carey, and bled so that I thought it would never stop; but the bone was sound, and I was surgeon enough to tie the artery, and—and—”
His voice had been growing weaker and weaker, and now it ceased, the poor fellow lying with his eyes half-closed.
“Doc-tor go mumkull,” whispered Jackum, but Carey made an angry gesture and, fetching water from the table, he moistened the wounded man’s lips, and in a short time had the satisfaction of seeing him revive a little and in a faint whisper ask for a drink. Carey raised his head a little, and half a glassful was swallowed with avidity. This was reviving, and the doctor was soon able to press his young companion’s hand.
“Where’s Bostock?” he said at last.
“On deck,” said Carey, promptly; but he said nothing about the old sailor’s injury.
“Hah!” replied the doctor; “I can get better now. But what is the matter with you, my lad? Your voice sounds strange, and you keep one hand over your breast. What is it?”
“Oh, nothing much,” said Carey, with a feeble attempt at a smile.
“Tell me,” said the doctor, in almost a whisper; but there was a stern look in his eyes as he said, “I know. You have been overtaxing yourself. The old trouble has broken again.”
“No, no,” cried Carey, eagerly now. “I was on the cabin stairs seeking for you, when that old wretch fired at me, and I felt something strike me here.” He pressed his hand upon his breast.