“We won’t neglect the boy,” said Mr Rawlings, struck with Seth’s unselfishness in ignoring his own wounded condition under the consciousness of his protégé’s danger, “but we must think of you all the same first.” And kneeling down by the injured man’s side, he proceeded, with Ernest Wilton’s assistance, to cut away Seth’s shirt, and then the end of the arrow, holding it firmly the while so that it should not wriggle about, and hurt him more than they could help, after which the barbed head was drawn out of the wound—which was just between the third and fourth ribs, and not very serious, as the ex-mate had thought—stanching the blood, and binding up the place with a silk handkerchief, which the young engineer had taken from round his neck for the purpose.
Mr Rawlings was immensely relieved to find that Seth was not so dangerously hit as he had at first supposed. When he saw the arrow sticking out of his side, he thought it was all up with his poor comrade; so now that the case appeared more hopeful, he was better able to consider what course should be adopted for Sailor Bill’s rescue.
After a moment’s deliberation, during which Seth gazed at him with a look of piteous entreaty on his face, but did not interrupt him with a word, guessing what was passing through his mind, Mr Rawlings’ line of action was decided on.
“Here, Jasper,” said he to the negro steward.
“Iss, massa.”
“You must run back to the camp as hard as you can, and tell Noah Webster to pick out five or six of the men who can use their rifles well, and come back here with them and Moose—he wouldn’t forget to bring him—to pursue the Indians. You must also bring a team of mules with the small waggon with you, the same as I told you about just now, although I did not then think to what a sad use we should put it, to take home Mr Seth in; and look sharp now—why, what’s the matter?”
Jasper had started up to go at Mr Rawlings’ first words; but when that gentleman spoke about the Indians while giving his directions, his alacrity and courage seemed to disappear together in company, as, instead of rushing off, as Mr Rawlings supposed, almost before he could finish speaking, there he stood, twirling his battered straw-hat about in his fingers, and looking the picture of cowardly irresolution.
“What, massa?” he tremblingly said, in answer to Mr Rawlings’ interrogation, his teeth chattering with fear, and his countenance wearing a most hang-dog expression. “Me go back ’lone cross de prairee, all dat way to camp? Suppose the Injuns scalp pore niggah same as massa Seth! Golly, Massa Rawlins, um can’t do it. I’se afeared!”
“You durned skunk!” exclaimed Seth, his indignation heightened probably by the pain of his wounds. “You jest make tracks at once, as Mister Rawlings says, or else I’ll—” and he shook his fist expressively to complete the sentence.
“Perhaps I had better go,” said Ernest Wilton at this juncture. “Jasper seems to be so frightened that he might lose his way; and, at all events, he would probably have forgotten half your instructions when he got to the creek, and give only a garbled account of what has happened. I think I would make the best messenger, unless you would prefer me to remain with you in case the Indians should return in force before we get help.”