at me with his knife. But, before the blade could descend, Dan fired at him, and his arm fell helpless at his side.
"Help me; they have—have murdered me!" gasped the old man, and turned over on his side in pain, showing an ugly cut on his neck. With a fierce mutter the Tagal I had kicked got up and rushed at Dan, clutching him by the throat and running him up against the wall of the hut. But now Mat Gory leaped in, and a blow from his pistol stretched the rascal senseless. Seeing this, the native who had been shot took to his heels and disappeared into the darkness outside.
There was a dim lantern burning beneath the roof of the hut, and this light was now turned up, that we might see more of this strange situation.
"I am—am done for," gasped the old man. "That villain has torn my neck to pieces!"
"Let us bind the wound up," I answered tenderly. "Have you any rags handy?"
"Never mind—I know I cannot live. I—I—can I trust you?"
"You can," answered Dan. "Have you a message to leave?"
"I have. You are Americans?"
"Yes."
"So am I. My name is Gaston Brown. I have a son, a sailor, Watterson Brown, who"
