“Get back to the brig as fast as you can, my lads.”
It was not until he had assured himself of the fact that their enemy was in retreat that he turned for a moment to where Brace was busy with his amateur surgery.
“That’s right,” he said; “I shouldn’t bandage it up yet. Let it bleed, in case the arrow was smeared with anything nasty. It’s hardly likely that it was, though.”
As he spoke he picked up the barbed head, glanced at it, and then slipped it into his pocket in the most indifferent way.
“I wouldn’t fidget about that,” he said to Sir Humphrey. “Most of the things we hear are old women’s tales. Here, hold my gun,” he added sharply to his man.
He thrust an arm round Sir Humphrey, just as his eyes were closing and he glided slowly along the side of the boat.
The next moment he too leaned over to scoop up some water and trickle it over the fainting man’s face.
“Bah!” he ejaculated, “how sharp they are!” For a little silvery fish, which in company with a shoal had darted at his finger, fell with a pat on the wounded man’s breast, and lay quivering and leaping till it disappeared through the grating at the bottom of the boat.
“Does that fainting mean danger?” cried Brace excitedly.
“Oh, no. Let his head go right down, and he’ll soon come to.”