it 'straight from the shoulder'. As he stood
there--straight and square--with his head thrown back, and his
eyes--very bright and sharp they were--looking every man's face over as
if he was reading a notice and had no time to spare, you couldn't have
told, from his look, or voice, or manner, whether he was afraid that
things would go wrong, or whether he was dead sure they'd go right.
Some men are like that. Others you can tell every thought that's passing
through their minds just as if it was printed in big letters on their
breasts, like a handbill: '200 Pounds reward,' and so on.

Well, Mr. Knightley wasn't one of that sort, though I saw him keep his
eye a trifle longer on Moran than the rest of 'em.

'Now then, boys,' he says, 'we've had our flutter out. I've done my
best, and you've done yours. I've bagged one of your lot, and you've
done your best to pot me. See here,' and he lifts up the collar of his
coat and shows a hole through it, touches his head on the side, and
brings away a red mark; and takes out his watch with the case all
battered in by a revolver bullet. 'You can't say I hadn't cause to
show fight,' and he points to his wife. 'Where's the man among you that
wouldn't have done the same? An Englishman's house is his castle. What
am I to expect?'

He looked over at Starlight, but he didn't take no notice, and made no
sign. I saw Mrs. Knightley look over at him too. It was the first time
I ever seen him look hard when there was a woman in the case, and such a
one! But he kept his face set and stern-like.

Then Moran breaks in--

'Expect, be blowed! What the----do you expect now we've got yer to
rights; are we going to let you off after knocking over Daly? No dashed
fear, mister, we'll serve you the same way as you served him, as soon
as we've had some grub and another glass or two of your grog. You've got
some fairish stuff here.'

'Why, Moran,' says Mr. Knightley, still making believe to joke--and,
by George! if he could laugh then, he could sing a song with a
bullet through him--'you're getting bad-tempered since you used to be
horsebreaking for Mr. Lowe. Don't you remember that chestnut Sir Henry
colt that no one else could ride, and I backed you not to get thrown,
and won a fiver? But I'm a man of the world and know how to play a
losing game at billiards as well as most men. Look here now! Daly's
dead. We can't bring him to life again, can we? If you shoot me, you'll
be nothing to the good, and