[Upon the rope coils lay ‘Brummy,’ quite still]. Squatted on his breast, the great hound watched him narrowly—so narrowly that her lolling red tongue nearly touched the face of the prostrate man. Blood oozed slowly from his mouth and ears.
With reluctance the dog obeyed her master’s call, and, apparently uninjured, crouched in a corner, panting loudly, while we examined Brummy.
‘Habet!’ said Treloar, as we turned him over. ‘Back’s broken! See here’ (producing a loaded revolver from a hip-pocket), ‘the old man meant business. It’s only guessing, mind. But he probably thought we should attempt to escape up the Snake Shaft, and would have shot us off the ladders like magpies. Well done, Goddess Kálee. You’ve proved yourself worthy of your name for once, anyhow.’
With a good deal of trouble we got the rope through the drive into the Snake Shaft and on to our windlass again. It had been cut clean off with a tomahawk. We hove the man and the dog up. We let the other thing alone for a while. But the one we had thought dead was still alive, with a little life. As the cool air blew on his face he opened his eyes. It was all he could do. Black, beady eyes, once sharp and piercing, now fast dulling with the death-film. And he lay there and watched me, staring fixedly. It was a bright [88] ]sunshiny day, the birds were singing cheerily about us, and the wash of the sea was very faint. From the expression on his face I thought he was listening to it. Presently Treloar returned from the camp with some brandy, and poured a spoonful between the clenched teeth.
The spirit revived him a little, and he spoke. He said,—
‘Curse you!’
More brandy, and he spoke again.
‘Is he there yet?’
‘He’s there yet,’ answered Treloar. ‘How long ago was it?’
‘Ten year.’