“Jumped up well as I was, and called Mr Frewen a brute and a beast as soon as he was out of hearing.”
“And the pistol cocked itself, jumped up into his hand, and then went off and wounded Dale. Is it much, doctor?” said Mr Brymer.
“No, only his ear cut, fortunately,” said Mr Frewen, holding a handkerchief to my head. “An inch more and our amiable, treacherous young friend would have had to be tried for murder. Who’s that?”
“Me,” growled Neb Dumlow. “Want help, sir?”
“No. Go and tell the captain there’s nothing the matter, and Miss Denning that there’s no cause for alarm. Lock up the wild beast, Brymer! I thought he was a little weak and wanted feeding up. Leave him to me, and I’ll feed him down.”
Mr Brymer gave a sharp look round, and then closed the door and locked it, while following Mr Frewen into the next cabin, he put a few stitches in my injured ear and then strapped it up.
“Feel sick?” he said.
“Pretty well,” I said, and I looked dismally at my knuckles.
“Like a light, and a glass to see your face?”
“Eh? No,” I cried, as I recalled all that had taken place. “Does it look very bad?”