A Duel in the Desert
"And you?" thundered Cairns at the mounted constable.
"I'm with the sergeant," said he. "He's had enough."
"Right!" cried the Superintendent, producing a note-book and scribbling venomously. "You both refuse! You will hear more of this; meanwhile, sergeant, I should like to know what your superior wisdom may be pleased to suggest."
"Send a cart back for him," said Cameron. "It's the only way he's fit to travel."
Stingaree sought to prop himself upon the elbow of the splintered wrist and hand.
"There are no more bones broken that I know of," said he, faintly. "But I felt bad before, and now I feel worse."
"He looks it, too," observed the sergeant, as Stingaree, ghastly enough beneath his blood and dust, rolled over on his back once more, and lay effectively with closed eyes. Even the Superintendent was impressed.
"Then what's to be done with him?" he exclaimed, with an oath. "What's to be done?"
"If you ask me," returned Cameron, "I should make him comfortable where he is; after all, he's a human being, and done no murder, that we should run the risk of murdering him. Leave him
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