“I’m all right, Mr Roberts, sir,” said the old sailor, hoarsely; “and the dinghy’s made fast astern.”
“But are you speared, Dick?” said the middy.
“Not as I knows on, sir. I ain’t felt nothing at present, but I don’t say as I ain’t got a hole in me somewheres.”
“They’ll get away,” said Ali, just then, as he stood up with a double gun in his hand. “Only small shot,” he said, tapping the stock. “I have no bullets.”
As he spoke he clapped the piece to his shoulder and fired twice rapidly, as the Malays in the sampan seemed to dive through a screen of reeds into some creek beyond.
The pattering hail of straggling small shot hastened their movements, and then Bob proceeded to thank the young chief for saving their lives, explaining to him, as far as he knew, how it was that they had fallen into such a plight.
“You must take more care,” said Ali, in a low voice. “Our people would not harm you; we are friends, but plenty hate you much. But you are safe.”
“Yes,” said Bob, who, with all the elasticity of youth, was fast recovering himself, “we are quite safe; and the fish are there too. I say, though, old chap, I am so much obliged.”
“Oh, no,” said the young Malay, laughing, as he coloured through his brown skin; “it is nothing. I saw a wretch trying to do harm, and I fired at him with small duck shot. You would do the same.”
“Yes, and with bigger shot too if I had a chance,” said Bob excitedly, as he proceeded to wring all the water he could out of his clothes, for now the excitement was over he felt slightly chilly.