The Amateur Cracksman
breathing, and Ewbank's voice in horror—
"'My God! Good Lord! What's happened to you? You're bleeding like a pig!'
"'Not now,' came with a grateful sort of sigh.
"'But you have been! What's done it?'
"'Bushrangers.'
"'Down the road?'
"'This and Whittlesea—tied to tree—cock shots—left me—bleed to death . . .'
"The weak voice failed, and the bare feet bolted. Now was my time—if the poor devil had fainted. But I could not be sure, and there I crouched down below in the dark, at the half-shut iron door, not less spellbound than imprisoned. It was just as well, for Ewbank wasn't gone a minute.
"'Drink this,' I heard him say, and, when the other spoke again, his voice was stronger.
"'Now I begin to feel alive . . .'
"'Don't talk!'
"'It does me good. You don't know what it was, all those miles alone, one an hour at the outside! I never thought I
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