“No,” whispered Mr Braine, angrily. “Take my orders, and keep the way of retreat open for us.”
“I am not going to leave my uncle in that danger without coming to help,” said Ned, stubbornly.
“Then come,” said Mr Braine, angrily, but admiring the boy’s determination all the same. “Now then, revolvers only, and they are only to be used if cunning fails. How many do we muster if it comes to a fight?”
“Hamet will come, father,” said Frank.
“To save master? Yes,” said the Malay, quietly.
“Four, Ned five,” said Mr Braine. “Oh, if that poor fellow had not made the mistake. He is brave as—as—”
“An Irishman,” said the doctor.
“Yes, as an Irishman or a Scot.”
“But I don’t think he’s so very bad, father,” whispered Frank.—“Here, I say, Tim. There’s a fight.”
“Foight? Eh!” said Tim, struggling up, and rubbing his eyes.