h,' says Jim. 'Look here, and here, poor
old dad!'

'There's not much "poor" about it, Jim,' says Starlight. 'Men that play
at bowls must expect to get rubbers. They've come off second best in
this row, and I wish it had been different, for several reasons.'

Dad was hit right through the top of the left shoulder. The ball had
gone through the muscle and lodged somewhere. We couldn't see anything
of it. Another bullet had gone right through him, as far as we could
make out, under the breast on the right-hand side.

'That looks like a good-bye shot,' says Starlight; 'see how the blood
comes welling out still; but it hasn't touched the lungs. There's no
blood on his lips, and his breathing is all right. What's this? Only
through the muscle of the right arm. That's nothing; and this graze on
the ribs, a mere scratch. Dash more water in his face, Jim. He's coming
to.'

After a few minutes he did come to, sure enough, and looked round when
he found himself in bed.

'Where am I?' says he.

'You're at home,' I said, 'in the Hollow.'

'Dashed if I ever thought I'd get here,' he says. 'I was that bad I
nearly tumbled off the old mare miles away. She must have carried me in
while I was unsensible. I don't remember nothing after we began to get
down the track into the Hollow. Where is she?'

'Oh! we found her near the cave, with the saddle and bridle on.'

'That's all right. Bring me a taste of grog, will ye; I'm a'most dead
with thirst. Where did I come from last, I wonder? Oh, I seem to know
now. Settling accounts with that----dog that insulted my gal. Moran got
square with t'other. That'll learn 'em to leave old Ben Marston alone
when he's not meddling with them.'

'Never mind talking about that now,' I said. 'You had a near shave of
it, and it will take you all your time to pull through now.'

'I wasn't hit bad till just as I was going to drop down into Black
Gully,' he said. 'I stood one minute, and that cursed wretch Hagan had
a steady shot at me. I had one at him afterwards, though, with his hands
tied, too.'

'God forgive you!' says Jim, 'for shooting men in cold blood. I couldn't
do it for all the gold in Turon, nor for no other reason. It'll bring us
bad luck, too; see if it don't.'

'You're too soft, Jim,' says the old man. 'You ain't a bad chap; but any
young fellow of ten years old can buy and sell you. Where's that brandy
and water?'

'Here it is,' says Jim; 'and then you lie down and take a sleep.