CHAPTER XVI.
THE DEATH OF GIDEON PRAWLE.
Gideon was stretched out upon a bed in one of the front rooms of the American House at Trinity.
The usually healthy, rugged look of his tanned face was now turned a ghastly white, which was rendered even more so by his heavy dark beard.
The proprietor of the hotel was sitting beside the bed fanning him when Jack, wild with anxious solicitude, was shown to his room.
He opened his eyes and smiled faintly when he recognized the boy.
“I’m afraid I’m a goner this time, Jack,” he said, taking the lad’s hand in his two weather-scarred ones.
“I hope not, sir,” answered the boy with some agitation.
“The doctor was back to see me a few minutes ago, and he said I couldn’t hold out over an hour more. Isn’t that so, Mr. Price?” looking at the landlord.
Jack turned pale, and the tears started into his eyes as the proprietor of the house nodded solemnly.