His brother pulled him aside.
"I tell you I heard two," he said in a hushed voice. "You didn't fire?"
"I had no gun."
"Was it Brian?"
"Yes. He shot straight at—at Richard; didn't see him a bit. He was always short-sighted."
Donald gave his brother a look, and then turned to the keeper, whose face was working with unwonted emotion at the sight before him.
"We must get help," he said, gravely. "He must be carried home, and some one must go to Dunmuir. Brian, shall I send to the village for you?"
He touched Brian's shoulder as he spoke. The young man rose, and turned his pale face and lack-lustre eyes towards his friend as though he could not understand the question. Donald, repeated it, changing the form a little.
"Shall I send for the men?" he said.
Brian pressed his hand to his forehead.