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"I guess your Dad don't think much of us folks down here, does he?" Billy asked. The slender sensitive fingers of the specialist lifted the lids of the unseeing eyes. Intently he examined them, then with a quick smile that transformed his grave face to almost boyish gladness, he spoke. They ran quickly up the valley, Billy unfastening his few garments as they ran. By the time Billy had reached the bend he was in readiness for the swim across. Without a thought of the long leeches—"blood-suckers" the boys called them—which lay on the oozy bottom of the creek's shallows ready to fasten on the first bare foot that came their way, he waded out toward the channel..

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"So help me God, yes, then, as I sit here," answered Mr Eagle. "All set," cried Stanhope. "Leave your belt loose so I can hang to it and I'm with you. That's right. Who were they, Billy?" They gently rolled the dead, or dying, man on to his back, and the nature of his injury appeared. He was clothed in white trousers, a light blue coat, and a shirt the front of which was ornamented by some light tracing like flowers. He was without a cravat, and his head was uncovered. The left side of his shirt was soaked in blood, and the singed hole through which the bullet had passed from the weapon whose muzzle he had pressed to his breast, was visible in the thick of the dark crimson dye. His face was marble-white. It wore an expression of torture. His lips were parted and grey. The eyelids were half-closed, and the whites of the eye only were visible. "Neeborly, ain't he?" growled Tom to his companion. "Nice, friendly sorter youngsters they raise on this God forsaken spot, I say.".