“Oh, I’m pretty hungry, sir,” I replied; “but all this in the night isn’t the sort of thing to make one want his breakfast.”
“Don’t despair, my lad, it will come all right. Why, they must have given us nearly all the powder in those two bags you brought in, and if they don’t mind, you and I will make a contrivance to hoist them with their own petard. But I don’t want to shed blood if I can help it.”
“No,” I said, with a shudder, “it is too horrid.”
Mr Frewen looked at me searchingly.
“Only,” he continued slowly, “if blood is to be shed, and by none of our seeking, it is our duty to see that it is the blood of the villains who have turned upon us and set the law at defiance. Do you see that, Dale?”
“Yes,” I said, “I see that, and of course we cannot be expected to be merciful to them who would blow us up with gunpowder. Why, they wouldn’t have cared if the ladies had been injured as well as the men.”
“You are quite right.”
“But you did not shoot Jarette this morning, sir,” I said, and I believe that my eyes twinkled mischievously at being able to confute him.
“No, Dale,” he said, “I couldn’t. Doctors have spent all their time learning how to save life, and it would have been such a cold-blooded act.”
“But if you had shot him, sir, the mutiny would have been at an end.”