“Which?” he said bitterly, as they stood alone.
“Let me bind your arm,” she said quietly now, as she drew a long breath.
“It is but a scratch,” he said carelessly, “a spear thrust.”
Without another word Rachel Linton slit open the sleeve of the jacket he wore, and deftly bandaged the double wound, for the thrust had gone right through Gray’s arm. Then rising, she stood before him for a moment or two.
“You asked which wound would I bind up, Adam Gray,” she said sadly. “I have bound up one. If my words will help to bind up the other, let me tell you that I do not believe the foul charge made against you.”
The rifle fell against Gray’s wounded arm as he caught the speaker’s hand in his, and raised it to his lips.
“You have done more,” he said; “you have healed it.”
For the next few moments he stood there as if holding the hand in his, though Rachel Linton had hurried away. Then he started, for he became aware that Tom Long had seen what had taken place, and was now standing leaning on his sword. But he did not speak, he only turned away, leaving Gray watching, and thinking hopefully now of the charge he had to meet.
“Smithers is a gentleman,” he said to himself; “they cannot shoot me for what I have not done.”
Then he began to wonder how the steamer had sped, and how soon they would bring back their friends. This was the more important, as he felt sure that a few such determined efforts on the Malay’s part, and the little garrison must succumb.