Coke, who had been holding Watts in a sitting posture by a firm grip on his collar, allowed the limp figure to sprawl headlong again. He wanted to plunge both hands deeply into his trousers pockets, because men of his type associate attitude so closely with thought that the one is apt to become almost dependent on the other. And so, for the moment, the safeguarding of Watts was of no consequence. But Watts had benefited much by the sousing of the spray, while his recovery was expedited by the forcible ejection of the salt water he had swallowed. He raised himself on one hand, and looked about with an inquiring eye. The Brazilian officer's uniform seemed to fascinate him.
"'Ello!" he gurgled. "Run in? Well I'm——"
"Is not that man wounded? I thought I saw him dashed against the rocks," said De Sylva.
"'E ought to be," said Coke, "but 'e's on'y drunk. A skin o' rum, 'arf empty, too, just like your skin o' wine, mister."
"Let him be taken outside and gagged if he resists."
There was an uneasy movement among the men. Their common impulse was to obey. Coke spread his feet a little apart.
"Leave 'im alone. 'E'll do no 'arm now," he said.
"I cannot be interrupted," cried De Sylva, whose iron self-restraint seemed to be yielding before British truculence.
"I'll keep 'im quiet but I can't 'ave 'im roasted afore 'is time, an' that's wot's 'ul 'appen if you tied him up in that gulley."
"Thanke'ee, skipper. You allus were a reel pal," murmured Watts.