"How many?" he asked, glancing at the quiet forms which bore no
bandages.
"Eleven, now. By the way, just one word. What chance have we?"
Christobal put the concluding sentence in French.
Courtenay answered in the same language: "A very poor one. But I shall
come to the saloon and warn you. That will be only fair, don't you
think?"
"Most certainly. Well--I may as well finish here." And the doctor
signed to his helpers to lift the next sufferer on to the table.
Courtenay returned to the stairway. At the top stood Elsie, looking
eagerly for his reappearance. A sense of unutterable anguish shook him
for a second as he saw the sweet face, instinct with life and beauty,
gazing down at him. How monstrous it was to think of such a fair woman
being battered out of recognition against the rocks. He bit his lip
savagely, and it is to be feared the words he swallowed were not those
of supplication. But his eyes were calm and his voice well under
control when he said:
"Dr. Christobal is captain below there, Miss Maxwell, and he absolutely
vetoes your presence. He was exceedingly distressed at being compelled
to send you such a message.
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