What I pictured was the men lifting their bleeding companion forward to one of the bunks, while others were talking and raging furiously about the shot.
I shuddered, and yet I felt excited, and that it was a necessity. And just then I made out Jarette’s voice shouting at the men, and giving some order which only evoked a deep growl.
“I don’t like having to fire like that,” said Mr Preddle just then; “and I feel now as if I ought to fetch the doctor.—Ah, Frewen,” he cried, “I’ve just shot one of the men.”
For there were Mr Frewen, the mate, and Barney Blane, all panting and eager to help us.
I told him what had happened, and Mr Brymer said quietly—
“On their own heads be it. This may act as a warning to them. But there must be no hesitation; our lives and that of Miss Denning depend upon swift action. At the first stroke of an axe, fire again.”
“I will,” said Mr Preddle firmly; and by the light of the lantern I saw that the chambers of his revolver were exposed, and that he was thrusting in a fresh cartridge.
“Ought we to send down Mr Frewen?” said Mr Denning just then.
“Don’t ask absurd questions, sir,” replied Mr Brymer angrily. “Come, Frewen. Now, my lad.”
He turned away, and before following, Barney Blane got beside me, to say in my ear—