Using all my strength, I succeeded in dragging the man out into the middle of the cabin. The dead whiteness of his face showed that he had fainted. I found the cause of his fainting easily enough. He had been stabbed under the left shoulder blade⁠—a nasty deep wound. I got his coat off and set to work to attend to it.

At the sting of the cold water he stirred, then sat up.

“Keep still, please,” I said.

He was the kind of young man who recovers his faculties very quickly. He pulled himself to his feet and stood there swaying a little.

“Thank you, I don’t need anything done for me.”

His manner was defiant, almost aggressive. Not a word of thanks⁠—of even common gratitude!

“That is a nasty wound. You must let me dress it.”

“You will do nothing of the kind.”