then he sat up and scanned his lacerated fingers: he looked up the path
by which he had come; he looked down the path he seemed destined to go;
he started to scratch his head, but paused in the act, by reason of his
fingers.

Then he said: "It's my mother wouldn't know me from a can of cold meat
if I hadn't stopped at this station; but wurrawurra, what a car it was
to come in!" He examined his tattered clothes and bare elbows; then he
unbuckled the gold-pan, and no easy task was it with his ragged fingers.
"'Twas not for deep minin' I brought ye," he said to the pan, "nor for
scrapin' the clothes from me back."

Just then the Honourable came up. "Shon, my man... alive, thank God! How
is it with you?"

"I'm hardly worth the lookin' at. I wouldn't turn my back to ye for a
ransom."

"It's enough that you're here at all."

"Ah, 'voila!' this Irishman!" said Pretty Pierre, as his light fingers
touched Shon's bruised arm gently. This from Pretty Pierre!

There was that in the voice which went to Shon's heart. Who could have
guessed that this outlaw of the North would ever show a sign of sympathy
or friendship for anybody? But it goes to prove that you can never be
exact in your estimate of character. Jo Gordineer only said jestingly:
"Say, now, what are you doing, Shon, bringing us down here, when we
might be well into the Valley by this time?"

"That in your face and the hair aff your head," said Shon; "it's little
you know a tobogan ride when you see one. I'll take my share of the
grog, by the same token."

The Honourable uncorked his flask. Shon threw back his head with a
laugh.

"For it's rest when the gallop is over, me men!
And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last;
And it's here's--"

But Shon had fainted with the flask in his hand and this snatch of a
song on his lips.

They reached shelter that night. Had it not been for the accident, they
would have got to their destination in the Valley; but here they were
twelve miles from it. Whether this was fortunate or unfortunate may be
seen later. Comfortably bestowed in this mountain tavern, after they had
toasted and eaten their venison and lit their pipes, they drew about the
fire.

Besides the four, there was a figure that lay sleeping in a corner on a
pile of pine branches, wrapped in a bearskin robe. Whoever it was slept
soundly.

"And what was it like--the gold-pan flyer--the tobogan ride, Shon?"
remarked Jo Gordineer.