“I was out of it, Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem. “They do bounce a deal. But there’s going to be real fighting on. One of those poor fellows who came running in, and stood up as if nothing was wrong, is dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes, my lad. Spear went right through his chest. Hark at ’em!”
There was a low wailing noise from the corner of the pah, where the two men were sheltered, and Don felt a chill of horror run through him.
“Then it is going to be quite a savage battle, Jem?”
“’Fraid so, my lad—no, I don’t mean ’fraid—think so. Now, look here, Mas’ Don, it won’t be long first, so you’d better go and lie down behind them high palings, where you’ll be safe.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“Stop here and see what there is to see.”
“But you may be hurt.”
“Well, Mas’ Don,” said Jem bitterly; “it don’t much matter if I am. Run along, my lad.”