Part 46 (1/2)

Tregelly caught him up in his arms as if he were a child, bore him into the hut, threw him on the bed, and tore off his jacket so as to expose the place to the light.

”Yes, he has knifed you, my son,” said Tregelly hoa.r.s.ely; ”but it's a mere scratch. He meant it, though, but reached over a bit too far.”

”You are saying this to calm me,” said Dallas excitedly. ”He struck me a tremendous blow.”

”Yes, my son; but it must have been with his wrist. I'm not cheating you. It's the simple truth. It isn't worth tying up.”

”Thank G.o.d!” sighed Dallas. ”I suppose I'm a bit of a coward, but the horror of it made me feel sick as a dog.”

”Such a crack as he must have given you would have made me feel sick, my son. Did it knock you down?”

”No; I closed with him, but he tripped and threw me heavily.”

”Well, that would make you feel sick, my son, without anything else.

Here, on with your jacket again, and let's get out into the darkness.

It's like asking the beggar to come and pot us, standing here.”

They hurried out directly after, to stand listening; but all was still.

”Now then,” said Tregelly, ”we'd best get the sledge and make our way home; but what do you think of my gentleman now? Oughtn't we to scrunch him like one would a black beetle?”

”Yes,” said Abel fiercely, ”and the first time we can. But where's the dog? Can that be he in the distance?”

A faint baying sound, followed by what sounded like revolver shots, several in succession, was heard. Then once more all was still for a few moments, when the firing began again.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

WHEN SLEEP IS MASTER.

”Hear that?” cried Abel excitedly. ”The scoundrel! The ruffian! He's firing at the dog.”

”Yes, my son,” said Tregelly quietly; ”and I'm not surprised, for old Scruff can be pretty nasty when he likes.”

”But you don't stir. Are we going to stand here and listen to that poor brute being murdered?”

”It would be about madness to go after him, my son,” said Tregelly, coolly; ”and after all, he isn't likely to hit the dog in the dark.”

A few minutes later they found the sledge, and as they were about to start, Dallas kicked against something hard, which went spinning along the ice-covered snow.

”What's that?” he said. ”Why, Tregelly, it must be your pipe.”

”Yes. It struck against me,” cried Abel. ”Here it is,” he added in triumph.

”Hooroar!” cried Tregelly. ”Now, I call that fine, my sons. Why, if old Scruff comes back and says he's killed Master Redbeard, this'll be about as pleasant a time as I ever spent. But how's your arm, Master Dallas?”

”Smarts, and feels wretched and numb, that's all. I can help pull the sledge.”