"Easy, old man," Craig said gently. For two days English had been delirious. The infection that had developed in his wound was quite beyond the curative powers of the simple medicines carried among the emergency stores of the life boat.
"It's a dragon!" the youth shouted. "It's going to get us."
He stared at something that he could see coming through the air.
Craig drew his pistol. "If it comes after us, I'll shoot it," he said, displaying the gun. "See this pistol."
"That won't stop this dragon," English insisted. "Oh—oh—" His eyes widened with fright as he watched something coming through the sky. He ducked down in the bottom of the boat, hid his face in his hands. Men, caught unprotected in the open by a bombing raid, threw themselves to the ground like that, while they waited for the bombs to fall. A few minutes later, English looked up. Relief showed on his face.
"It's gone away," he said. "It flew over and didn't see us."
"There was no danger," Craig said gently. "It wouldn't have harmed us. It was a tame dragon."
"There aren't any tame dragons!" the youth said scornfully. He was looking again at the sea. "There's a snake!" he yelled. "A huge snake! It's got its head out of the water—"
"Poor kid," Margy Sharp whispered. "Can't we do something for him?"
"I'm afraid not," Craig answered. "But you might take him some water." He poured a generous share into the cup, watched the girl take it to the youth, who drank it eagerly.