“Tomati!” he whispered, “is that you?”
The man turned his head feebly round and stared vacantly—so changed that for a moment they were in doubt.
But the doubt was soon solved, for the poor wounded fellow said with a smile,—
“Ay, my lad; I was—afraid—you were—done for.”
“No, no; not much hurt,” said Don. “Are you badly wounded?”
Tomati nodded.
“Can I do anything for you?”
“No,” was the reply, feebly given. “It’s all over with me at last; they will fight—and kill one another. I’ve tried—to stop it—no use.”
Jem exchanged glances with Don, for there was something terrible in the English chiefs aspect.
“Where are they taking us?” said Don, after a pause.