"Back here. Got a bullet through the leg. No bones broken, but he won't walk for a week or two."
"Many others wounded?"
"Two Torches, half a dozen natives, and a dozen of the yellow men. Frightful blackguards they are too. Makes me wish they'd been killed outright just to look at them."
Blair nodded. He could not plead wholly guiltless in that respect.
A dozen yellow men on their hands would be an anxiety and a burden. A light affliction, however, compared with what might have been if the invaders had caught them napping. And so they must make the best of it, and be thankful for things as they were.
"Now see here, boys," he said, sitting up on the stretcher. "We've had our fight and by God's mercy we've won. I'm afraid we all lost our heads a bit while it was on"—at which, and their recollection of him in the fight, the sailors grinned—"and I think we cannot blame ourselves for that. But these men who are left on our hands are tabu. The islanders will kill them if they get the chance, and we must prevent it. What is done in the hot blood of battle is done. But killing in cold blood is murder. You have all fought valiantly. Don't spoil it by any such doings. And, by the way, Evans, there's another of them lying under a rock to the left of the path over there. You might see to him. I flung my club after a bunch of them and this fellow went down, but he was only stunned."
"I'll go and bring him up at once, before the brown fellows come."
"No news of Cathie, I suppose. When did his big gun stop?"
"Over an hour ago. We've no news. I hope it's all right. I'd have sent down but I'd no one to send."
"Which of you boys will go for news?" asked Blair. "I doubt if we can all get down to-night."