“I did,” said Chris.
“You?” cried Griggs. “Then it was not you, Mr Bourne?”
“I? No! I was woke up by the shot, and coming to see, when I was knocked down by the brute. It fell on me, pinning me to the ground, kicking and struggling the while. I thought I should have been smothered. Is this its blood all over me?”
“Yes, if you are not torn.”
“I’m not hurt that I know of. One of its fangs caught me somewhere about the collar and tore my jacket right down to the waist.”
“No, you can’t be wounded,” said the doctor, “or you wouldn’t talk like that. Here, Chris, you say you fired?”
“Yes, father,” said the boy, and he hurriedly related his experience.
“What an escape for you both!” cried the doctor. “The brute must have been desperately wounded by your pistol-shot, Chris, my boy. You hit him hard.”
“Couldn’t very well miss him at that distance, sir,” said Griggs dryly. “The brute’s lying somewhere about. Look out, every one, for he’ll be pretty dangerous.”
“He must have gone ever so far,” cried Ned, “for I heard the trees breaking for long enough. But are you quite sure you’re not hurt, father?”