is hands a moment or two, and
let go, dropping into the saloon without a sound.

Carey and Bostock stood listening for some minutes, but there was no
sign made, and though the boy lay down on the deck with his ear close to
the opening he could hear nothing; and at last he rose and made for the
cabin entrance, to kneel down and listen there to the low, deep groans
uttered from time to time.

It was horrible, and in spite of the pain he was in Carey was ready to
risk everything and rush down to put an end to his suspense.

Just when this was unendurable he felt a light touch upon his shoulder,
and turned to find the second black pointing upward to the quarter-deck.

Carey went up at once, and found that Jackum was just squeezing himself
edgewise beneath the hinged opening of the saloon skylight.

He grinned with satisfaction.

"Find doc-tor," he said, fumbling in his girdle. "Big Dan shoot--
shoot."

"Not killed--mumkull?" whispered Carey, in a voice full of the anguish
he felt.

"No, no, no. Baal mumkull. Big Dan shoot. Doctor broke."

"Where, his head?" said the boy, with a sigh of relief, as he touched
his own.

"Baal head. Leggum," said the black, touching his thigh; and then from
out of one tightly clasped hand he took a roughly doubled-up piece of
paper, holding it out to the boy with a peculiar look of awe in his
countenance.

"Ah!" cried Carey, joyfully, as he snatched at the paper, a leaf
evidently torn out of a little pocket-book. "Here, Bob," he said, with
his voice trembling, as he opened out the scrap to display a few words
hastily pencilled in straggling characters, and he read:

"Thank Heaven you are alive. That ruffian fired at me, and the shot
divided an artery. I am too weak to stir. Take care. He is somehow
injured and lying at the bottom of the cabin stairs groaning. I am
dreadfully weak and faint, but I managed to stop the bleeding."

"Three cheers for that," said Bostock, softly. "This is bad noos,
Master Carey, but there's a deal o' good in it, though; now, aren't
there?"

"Good?" cried Carey, with a look of horror.

"Yes, sir, good," said the old sailor, stolidly. "You see, he says he's
stopped the bleeding."

"Yes, yes, that is good, certainly," said Carey, with his hand pressed
to his aching breast.

"Then there's something better, sir; he says Old King Cole's somehow
injured, and lying at the bottom o' the cabin stairs groaning, and if
that aren't a blessing i