"That I don't know. This seems not the hiding-place Uncle George supposed.
I was wakened by his trying to strike a light, and I thought he was a
ghost."

I hoped he was dead, and so an end to all our fears from him. But I found
him still breathing, though but faintly, and he had not his senses. I
dragged him across to my bed and sought for his wound, and found it at last
in the head. Either the old pistol had cast high, or my sudden up-jump, or
his down-bending, had upset my aim. For the shot had entered the side of
his head at the back, just above the ear, and as I could find no hole
whence it had issued it was probably in his head still. The wound had bled
very little, but beyond his slow, heavy breathing he gave no sign of life.

On the floor, where he had fallen, I found a seaman's torch, which had been
lighted but was now sodden with water. He had probably dropped it or
dragged it in some pool as he made his way into the cave.

And, now that the hot anger and the fear of the man were out of me, and he
lay under my hand helpless to do us further harm, I found myself ready to
do what I could for him, since, unfortunately, he was not dead.

I took Uncle George at his word and broached one of his little kegs, and
found it most excellent French cognac, and mixing some with water in the
lid of the can, I prevailed on Carette to drink some too. We had both been
not a little shaken by these happenings, and the fiery life in the spirit
pulled us together and braced the slackened ropes. I dropped a little into
Torode also, and it ran down his throat, but he showed no sign of
appreciation, and I doubted the fine liquor was wasted.