Dave glanced down at his left wrist, to find it covered with blood.
"It must look worse than it is," Darrin commented, listlessly.
"I didn't even feel it."
"It will need attention, sir, just the same," Riley urged. "Let me fix it up, sir, with a first aid bandage."
There was a water cask aboard. As the launch was now out of close range, and the Mexicans had apparently given up firing, Riley brought a cup of water, poured it over the wrist, and wiped away the blood.
"A scratch, as I thought," smiled Dave. "Not even enough to get excused from watch duty."
"You'll have it dressed, sir, won't you, as soon as you get aboard the 'Long Island' again?" urged Riley, applying the sterilized bandage with swift skill. "If the scoundrels used any of the brass-jacketed bullets of which they're so fond, a scratch like that might lead to blood poisoning, sir."
In a few minutes more the launch was out of rifle range. Dave ordered the course changed to east by north-east, in order to reach the rendezvous of the three launches.
"Steamer ahead, sir!" sang out the bow lookout, a few minutes later.
"Whereaway?" called Darrin, moving forward.
"Three points off starboard bow, sir," replied the sailorman.
"It looks like our own launch, sir."