self, in proof of which he began to shoot out the lights.
The men scrambled into safe corners, all but The Duke, who stood quietly by watching Bruce shoot. Then saying:
"Let me have a try, Bruce," he reached across and caught his hand.
"No! you don't," said Bruce, struggling. "No man gets my gun."
He tore madly at the gripping hand with both of his, but in vain, calling out with frightful oaths:
"Let go! let go! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"
With a furious effort he hurled himself back from the table, dragging The Duke partly across. There was a flash and a report and Bruce collapsed, The Duke still gripping him. When they lifted him up he was found to have an ugly wound in his arm, the bullet having passed through the fleshy part. I bound it up as best I could and tried to persuade him to go to bed. But he would go home. Nothing could stop him. Finally The Duke agreed to go with him, and off they set, Bruce loudly protesting that he could get home alone and did not want anyone.
It was a dismal break-up to the meet, and we all went home feeling rather sick, so that it gave
