“I’ll get him, all the same,” he said presently, coming out of a sort of trance, in which, as I understood later, his mind had been making a geographical survey of our neighbourhood, going up and down every creek and corner on a radius of fifty miles.

“If,” he added, “he knows this island better than I do, I’ll give him this warrant to eat for his breakfast....  But let’s turn in.  I’ll think it out by the morning.  Night brings counsel.”

So we sought our respective cots; but I had scarcely begun to undress, when a foolish accident for which I was responsible happened, an accident that might have had serious consequences, and which, as a matter of fact did have—­though not at the moment.

As I told the reader at the beginning of this story, I am not accustomed to guns—­being too afraid of my bad temper.  Charlie knew this, and was all the time cautioning me about holding my gun right and so on, and especially about shaking out any unused cartridges at the end of the day’s shoot.

Well, this special night, I had forgotten his warnings.  Neglecting everything a man should do to his gun when he is finished with it for the day, I had left two cartridges in it, left the trigger on the hair-brink of eternity, and other enormities for which Charlie presently, and quite rightly, abashed me with profanity; in short, my big toe tripped over the beast as it stood carelessly against the wall of my cabin, and, as it fell, I received the contents in the fleshy part of my shoulder.

The explosion brought the whole crew out of their shanty, in a state of gesticulating nature, and, as Charlie, growling like a bear, was helping to bring first aid, suddenly our young friend Jack—­whose romantic youth preferred sleeping outside in a hammock slung between two palm trees—­put him aside.

“I know better how to do this than you, Sir Francis,” he said, laughing.

“Same as the sharks, eh?” said Charlie.

“Just the same ... but, let’s have a look at your medicine chest, and give me the lint quick.”

So Jack took charge, and acted with such confidence and skill,—­finally binding up my wound, which was but a slight one—­that Charlie stood by dumbfounded and with a curious soft look in his face which I didn’t understand till later.  The tears came into my eyes at the wonderful tenderness of the lad, as he bent over me.

“Do I hurt you?” he kept saying.  “You and I are pals, you know.”

“You don’t hurt me a bit, dear Jack,” I answered; “what a clever lad you are!”

Then Jack looked up for a moment, and caught Charlie’s wondering look; and, it seemed to me that he changed colour, and looked frightened.

“Sir Francis is jealous,” he said; “but I’ve finished now.  I guess you’ll sleep all right after that dose I gave you.  Good night....”  And he slipped away.

Jack had proved himself a practised surgeon, and, as he predicted, I slept well—­so well and so far into next morning that Charlie at last had to waken me.