Part 1 (2/2)

”It is a comfort,” he said to himself, ”to have got rid of the smell of hides. If ever cholera comes this way I should think it would make a clean sweep of San Diego.”

Turning, he walked leisurely back; he entered the town, and had gone but a hundred yards or two when he heard a shout, followed by a pistol shot, and then, in English, a cry for help.

He dashed down the street toward a group of people who, he could see in the moonlight, were engaged in a sharp struggle. One man was defending himself against four, and the oaths and exclamations of these showed that they were Mexicans. Just as he reached them the man they were attacking was struck down, and two of his a.s.sailants threw themselves upon him.

d.i.c.k rushed upon the men, and felled one with a sweeping blow of his stick. The other man who was standing up sprang at him, knife in hand, with a savage oath.

So quick was the action that he was upon d.i.c.k before he had time to strike a blow with his stick. He threw up his left arm to guard his head, but received a severe gash on the shoulders. At the same moment he struck out with his right, full into the face of the Mexican, who, as he staggered back, fell across the three men on the ground. d.i.c.k seized the opportunity to draw his pistol, dropping his stick as he did so, as his left arm was disabled. It was a double-barreled pistol and as the three natives rose and rushed at him, he shot the first. The other two sprang at him and he received a blow that almost paralyzed him. He staggered against the wall, but had strength to raise his arm and fire again, just as the man was about to repeat his blow; he fell forward on his face, and his other a.s.sailant took to his heels. A moment later d.i.c.k himself sank to the ground.

Chapter II.--d.i.c.k's Escape.

When d.i.c.k opened his eyes it was broad daylight. He was lying in a barely furnished room. A surgeon was leaning over him bandaging his wounds, while on the other side of the bed stood three red-s.h.i.+rted men, whose rough beards and belts with bowie knives and pistols showed them to be miners. One of them had his face strapped up and his arm in a sling. An exclamation of satisfaction burst from him as d.i.c.k's eyes opened.

”That is right, lad. You will do now. It has been touch and go with you all night. My life aint no pertik'lar value to n.o.body, but such as it is you have saved it. But I won't talk of that now. Which s.h.i.+p do you belong to? We will let them know at once.”

”The _Northampton_,” d.i.c.k said in a whisper.

”All right; don't you talk any more. We will get your friends here in no time.”

But when Mr. Allen came ash.o.r.e d.i.c.k was again unconscious. The mate fetched two more surgeons, who, after conferring with the first, were all of opinion that although he might possibly recover from his wounds, weeks would elapse before he would be convalescent. Before night fever had set in, and it was a fortnight before he was again conscious of what was pa.s.sing round him. He looked feebly round the room. One of the red-s.h.i.+rted men was attending to a pot over a charcoal fire. Turning his head he saw, standing looking out of the window, his friend Tom Haldane.

”Halloa, Tom,” he said, in a whisper, which, however, reached the mids.h.i.+pman's ears. He turned sharply round, and hurried to the bedside.

”Thank G.o.d, d.i.c.k, you are conscious again. Don't try to talk, old fellow; drink this lemonade, and then shut your eyes again.”

d.i.c.k tried to raise his hand to take the gla.s.s, but, to his surprise, found he was unable to do so. Tom, however, put it to his lips and poured it down his throat. It was cool and pleasant, and with a sigh of relief he again closed his eyes, and went off into a quiet sleep.

When he awoke it was evening; the window was open, and the fresh air came in, making the lamp on the table flicker.

”How do you feel now, old man?” Tom asked.

”I feel all right,” he said, ”but I am wonderfully weak. I suppose I must have lost a lot of blood. Has the skipper given you leave to stop with me for the night?”

Tom nodded. ”I will tell you all about it in the morning, d.i.c.k. There is some chicken broth Dave has been cooking for you. You must try and drink a bowl of it, and then by to-morrow morning you will be feeling like a giant.”

d.i.c.k laughed feebly. ”It will be some time before there is much of a giant about me. Tom; but I feel as if I could drink some broth.”

The next morning d.i.c.k woke feeling decidedly stronger. ”Raise me up and put some pillows behind me, Tom. It is horrid being fed from a spoon, lying on one's back.”

The man called Dave, and Tom, lifted him up as he wished, and then the latter fed him with the broth, in which some bread had been crumbled.

”Now, then,” d.i.c.k said, when he had finished; ”let us hear what the old man said. I suppose he was in a tremendous rage?”

”That he was! a brute!”

”Why, there is my chest. What has he sent that ash.o.r.e for? I should think I could be taken on board again to-day.”

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