Then, as Daygo lay quite still, he began to think that they had gone too far, and his opinion was endorsed by his companion, who suddenly leaned back to look at him, with a face full of horror.
"Cinder," he said, "I didn't mean to, but I hit him too hard." "Put the bat down, and come and take the oar and sheet," whispered back Vince, whose nervous feeling increased as the change was made.
Vince was no doctor, but he had not been about with his father for years, and dipped into his books, without picking up some few scraps of medical and surgical lore.

So, bringing these to bear, he leaned over their prisoner and listened to his breathing, studied his countenance a little, and then placed a couple of fingers upon the man's massive wrist and then at his throat and temples.
After this he drew back to where, trembling and ghastly-looking, Mike was watching him, and now whispered, with catching breath,-- "Is he--" Mike wanted to say "dead," but the word would not come.
"Yes," said Vince, in the same low tone; "he's shamming.

Go back and keep guard." "No, no--you," said Mike; "I'll steer." Vince nodded, and seated himself on the thwart over the prisoner, with the heavy piece of wood close at hand.
The boat bounded on, and he glanced at the distant vessels, wondering whether the cutter would capture the schooner and the lugger get safely to port.

He thought, too, a good deal about the man in the bottom of the boat, and felt more and more sure that he was right in his ideas; for every now and then there was a twitching of the muscles about the corners of his eyes, which at last opened in a natural way, and looked piteously in the boy's face.
"How far are we from the shore ?" he said.
"'Bout a mile," said Vince coolly.

"Why, Mike Ladelle thought you were dead ?" "So I am nearly," groaned Daygo.