rt.

Alas! for the poor man, even though his stabbing powers had been good
instead of bad, for he would only have imbedded the short weapon in a
mass of fat without touching the heart. But Grummidge was a bad
stabber. He missed his aim so badly as to plunge his weapon into the
hood! Nothing could have been more fortunate. The air escaped and the
hood collapsed. At the same moment Grummidge received an ugly scratch
on the cheek which sent him sprawling. As he rose quickly he observed
Swinton's club, which he grasped and brought vigorously down on the
seal's now unprotected nose, and felled it. Another effective blow
terminated its career for ever, and then the victor turned to find that
Big Swinton lay on the ice, quite conscious of what was going on though
utterly unable to move hand or foot.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

TELLS OF DEATH AND DISASTER.

To bind up Swinton's wounds, some of which were ugly ones, was the first
business of Grummidge, after he had hastily staunched the blood which
was flowing copiously from his own cheek. The stout seaman was well
able to play the part of amateur surgeon, being a handy fellow, and he
usually carried about with him two or three odd pieces of spun-yarn for
emergencies--also a lump of cotton-waste as a handkerchief, while the
tail of his shirt served at all times as a convenient rag.

Having finished the job he looked earnestly at the pale face and closed
eyes of his old enemy, and said--"You've bin pretty much banged about
old chap--eh?"

As the wounded man made no reply, Grummidge rose quickly, intending to
run to the settlement for help, knowing that no time should be lost. He
was hastening away when Swinton stopped him.

"Hallo! hold on!" he shouted. Grummidge turned back.

"You--you're not goin' to leave me, are you?" demanded his enemy,
somewhat sternly, "I--I shall die if you leave me here on the cold ice."

An involuntary shudder here bore testimony to the probability of his
fear being well grounded.

"Swinton," replied Grummidge, going down on one knee, the more
conveniently to grasp the unwounded hand of his foe, "you mistake my
c'rackter entirely. Though I'm not much to boast on as a man, I ain't
quite a devil. I was only goin' to run to Wagtail Bay to start some o'
the boys with a stretcher to fetch ye--an' it's my belief that there's
no time to be lost."

"Right you are, Grummidge," replied the poor man in a faint voice, "so
little time that if y