He made a brave effort to seem unhurt, and went to assist his men; while once more Don and Jem ran to the side, and fired just in time to save the lashings of the fence; but Jem’s pistol went off with quite a roar, and he flung the stock away, and stood shaking his bleeding fingers.
“Are you hurt, Jem?”
“Hurt! He says, ‘Am I hurt?’ Why, the precious thing bursted all to shivers; and, oh, crumpets, don’t it sting!”
“Let me bind it up.”
“You go on and load; never mind me. Pretty sort o’ soldier you’d make. D’yer hear? Load, I say; load!”
“Can’t, Jem,” said Don sadly; “that was my last charge.”
“So it was mine, and I rammed in half-a-dozen stones as well to give ’em an extra dose. Think that’s what made her burst?”
“Of course it was, Jem.”
“Bad job; but it’s done, and we’ve got the cutlash and spears. Which are you going to use?”
“The spear. No; the cutlass, Jem.”