Restored by the mouthful of alcohol, the Spaniard staggered up, but with difficulty; and then we perceived that gouts of blood, dried and encrusted by the sun, were on his person, and on the inside of the boat, especially on one of the thwarts.
"What is this—blood?" asked Hislop, with an imperceptible shudder.
The Spaniard started, and became, if possible, paler at the question, as he nervously clutched the gunwale of his boat with both hands, and said, in broken accents,—
"My dog, senores; I killed a dog that was with me, because—because it went mad in the hot sunshine, and being without water."
"Why did you not throw it into the sea?"
"It would have bitten me, senor, and might perhaps have come into the boat again."
"Likely enough," muttered one of our men.
"You could have knocked it over with an oar," said Hislop; "but did your dog wear this!" he added, fishing up with the boat-hook a cap that lay in the bilge water under the stern sheets of the skiff.
"That cap is mine," said the Spaniard, in a husky voice, while closing his eyes, as if wearied or appalled.
"Have you two heads?" asked Hislop, sternly