We were hard put to it before we got the madman in, and then it was worse than ever. For he, our master, the bravest man that I ever saw or think to see, sat down beside his friend and wept like a child. He did not even look at us when we took up Allerdyce and buried him in a long trench with the others who had fallen—five in all, a heavy loss for us who were so few.
"I never want to see Greenock again!" wailed Jack Jaikes, "we were that pack, Allerdyce and me——"
"Go and fetch your father, Rhoda Polly," said I, "this will never do. It would be no use to telegraph. He would never believe the like of Jack Jaikes."
"May God grant he can come!" said Rhoda Polly, and darted off. I went into the outhouse where Keller Bey lay. Harold Wilson was bending over him, a steel probe in his hand. He stood up as I came in, looking narrowly at the point.
"I think we shall pull him through, but so long as we have that young lady"—he pointed at Alida, who was exhausting herself in a long outburst of Oriental sorrow—"I fear we can do nothing radical."
"Wait till Rhoda Polly comes back," I said, "she will get her friend away."
"I do not think so," he said, "she has been trying for some time."
"Could he be moved?"
"Far?" queried the doctor.
"Well, across the river in a boat, and up the hill to my father's house."