“Any of you men hear a shot?” said the lieutenant to the watch.
“No, sir; no, sir.”
“I heard nothing, Roberts,” said the lieutenant. “You are excited with exertion. Go below and have a glass of sherry, my lad, and put in a dose of quinine. I can’t afford to have you down with fever.”
“No, thanky,” said Bob; “I could manage the glass of wine, but I’m not going to spoil it with the quinine, I’m— There now, what’s that? If that isn’t a rifle-shot I’m no man.”
“Then it isn’t a rifle-shot,” said the lieutenant, grimly. “I heard nothing.”
“Beg pardon, sir, I think it was a shot.”
“There’s another!” cried Bob, excitedly. “It’s our fellows somewhere.”
There were a couple of distant shots, faintly heard now by all.
“You’re right, Roberts,” said the lieutenant, hastily; “but it is not obliged to be our fellows.”
“They couldn’t have followed up from the island, sir,” cried Bob; “so it must be.”