And he bent over him.
It was indeed the guide.
He had fainted.
"Plague stifle the fool!" the captain muttered, with vexation. "What's the use of asking him anything now?"
But the pirate was a man of resources; he replaced his pistols in his belt, and raising the wounded man, he threw him over his shoulders.
Loaded with his burden, which scarcely seemed to lessen his speed, he hastily returned to the camp by the way he had left it.
He deposited the guide close to a half-extinguished brazier, into which he threw an armful of dry wood to revive it. A clear blaze soon enabled him to examine the man who lay senseless at his feet.
The features of the Babbler were livid, a cold perspiration stood in drops upon his temples, and the blood flowed in abundance from a wound in his breast.
"Cascaras!" the captain muttered; "here is a poor devil who has got his business done! I hope before he departs he will, however, tell me who has done him this favour, and what has become of Kennedy!"
Like all the wood rangers, the captain possessed a small practical knowledge of medicine; it was nothing new to him to dress a shot wound.