“The Captain! It must have been Wurley, then, who fired at you.”
“I don't know who it was. I only hope he won't be blinded.”
“It's a strange business altogether,” said Tom, looking into the fire; “I scarcely know what to think of it. We should never have pulled through but for you, that's certain.”
“I know what to think of it well enough,” said East. “But now let's hear what happened to you. They didn't catch you, of course?”
“No, but it was touch and go. I thought it was all up at one time, for Harry would turn right across their line. But he knew what he was about; there was a bog between us, and they came on right into it, and we left them floundering.”
“The convict seems to have his head about him, then. Where is he, by the way? I'm curious to have a look at him.”
“Looking after the horses. I'll call him in. He ought have something to drink.”
Tom went to the door and called Harry, who came out from the rough shed which served as a stable, in his shirt, with a wisp of hay in his hand. He had stripped off coat, and waistcoat, and braces, and had been warming himself by giving the horses a good dressing.
“Why, Harry, you haven't had anything,” said Tom; “come across and have a glass of something hot.”
Harry followed into the kitchen, and stood by the end of the screen, looking rather uncomfortable, while Tom poured him out a glass of the hot mixture, and the lieutenant looked him over with keen eyes.