He had wounded him--gravely, I thought, to judge from the amount of blood--but the quickness and marksmanship of the Portuguese had not availed to save his life from those terrible hands.

After two shots Laputa had got hold of him and choked his life out as easily as a man twists a partridge's neck.

Then he had gone into the cave.
I saw the marks of blood on the road, and hastened on.

Laputa had been hours in the cave, enough to work havoc with the treasure.

He was wounded, too, and desperate.