“Well, how do you feel?” inquired he.
I stared at him a minute or two without answering, not understanding very clearly what was the matter with me, though having at the same time a vague impression that all was not quite right. Gradually I collected my ideas, and at length, when Browne repeated his question the third time, I had formed a pretty correct theory as to the cause of my present supine attitude, and the unpleasant sensations which I experienced.
“I feel rather queer about the head and shoulders,” I said, in answer to his inquiry: “I must have got a pretty severe blow. I suppose!”
“Yes,” said Max, whose uneasy look ill agreed with his words and manner, “see what it is to be blessed with a tough cranium; such a whack would have crushed mine like an egg-shell; but it has only enlarged your bump of reverence a little.”
“Nothing serious has happened, then—no one is badly hurt,” said I, trying to look around; but the attempt gave my neck so severe a wrench, and caused such extreme pain, that I desisted.
“No one has received any worse injury than yourself,” answered Browne—“at least, none of us.”
“And the savages—what has become of them?”
“We have nothing to apprehend from them at present, I think—they have been gone but a short time, and Morton is in the tree yonder, keeping watch for their return—do you feel now as if you can stand up and walk?”
“Certainly, I can; with the exception of the pain in my head, and a stiffness about the neck and shoulders, I am all right, I believe.” And in order to convince Browne, who seemed somewhat sceptical on the point, notwithstanding my assurances, I got up and walked about—carrying my head somewhat rigidly, I dare say, for it gave me a severe twinge at every movement.
“Well,” said he, “since that is the case, I think the wisest thing we can do is to leave this neighbourhood at once.”