“Gracious me!” exclaimed Ernest, quite taken aback by the announcement. “Indians! And where is Sailor Bill?”
“The durned cusses have carried him off!” said Seth with a sob. “I’d a follered and got him back,” added the ex-mate to Mr Rawlings, who now came up, with Jasper at his heels—the negro almost turning white with terror at the very name of the Indians being mentioned, and shaking in his shoes,—“I’d a follered an’ got him back, yes sir! But them durned cusses have sent an arrowhead through my karkuss, and well-nigh broken my fut as well!”
Story 1—Chapter XVII.
On the Trail.
“Where are you wounded?” asked Mr Rawlings, bending over Seth, who seemed to suffer considerable pain, although he endeavoured stoically to suppress all expression of it.
“In my side, haar,” replied the other, pointing to where the feathered end of an arrow could be seen protruding from his shirt; “and if yer cut off the tail of the cussed thing, I reckon you ken pull it slick through, as the head’s comed out ahint me. But it’s only a flesh wound, and ain’t up to much, for it didn’t touch my ribs.”
“Well,” said Mr Rawlings, “you’re a bit of a doctor, Seth, and ought to know if anybody does.”
“Yes, it’s only a scratch, I’m sartain, or I would ha’ felt it more. My fut’s the wussest of the two. But, lor’ sakes!” added Seth, trying to get on his legs, and quivering with excitement, although the attempt was futile, and he had to sink back again into his half-sitting, half-kneeling posture with a groan—“don’t you stop here a consulting about me, Rawlings, when that poor boy’s life’s in peril. You and Wilton had best skate off at once and foller up them redskins as has Sailor Bill. I ken bide waal enuf till you gits back again, old man, along with Jasper, who can do all I wants.”