Along this track we could plainly see the hoof marks of the men
we were after.
It was one of the most beautiful gullies I had ever seen, and I turned
to say so to some one who rode beside me. Conceive my horror at finding
it was Charles Hawker. I turned to him fiercely, and said,--
"Get back, Charles. Go home. You don't know what you are doing, lad."
He defied me. And I was speaking roughly to him again, when there came
a puff of smoke from among the rocks overhead, and down I went, head
over heels. A bullet had grazed my thigh, and killed my horse, who.
throwing me on my head, rendered me HORS DE COMBAT. So that during the
fight which followed, I was sitting on a rock, very sick and very
stupid, a mile from the scene of action.
My catastrophe caused only a temporary stoppage; and, during the
confusion, Charles Hawker was unnoticed. The man who had fired at me
(why at me I cannot divine), was evidently a solitary guard perched
among the rocks. The others held on for about a quarter of an hour,
till the valley narrowed up again, just leaving room for the walk
between the brawling creek and the tall limestone cliff.
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