“Nay, he’s not bitten,” cried Joey. “Here’s his little pistol. Why, he’s one o’ they chaps as blows brass things in the band.”
As he spoke, the man took the rusty pistol from the tight fingers which clutched it, and then uttered a cry.
“What’s the matter?”
“His hand arn’t cold,” cried Joey, and, quickly turning the figure right over into the sunshine, he gazed down excitedly, and pointed at a great red stain on the breast and side of the scarlet tunic, hidden until then, and dry now and dark.
“But he’s quite dead, arn’t he?” said Smiler.
“Nay, he’s not dead. You can feel his heart beat right up into his throat. Come and take hold of his legs, two on you, and Smiler and me ’ll carry this end.”
“Where to?” asked one of the men, who seized a leg.
“Tak’ un up to the oast-house. Here! one o’ you go and fatch a policemun and ’nother on you goo right on and tell doctor what we found. How soon can you get there?”
“’N ’our, cross the fields.”
“Cut, then. He’ll gi’e you a ride back in his chay.”