"Don't you tell me you never went into the other! It's a nat'ral chimbley at the fur end, and the boss had it shoved right through, and steps cut in the sandstone for bathing."
The sailor's bloodstains were cracking in a ghastly grin.
"So that won't do, old man," added Mr. Doherty, severely.
"Will these?"
And Denis lifted one naked foot after the other; the left sole showed a purple bruise, the right a gash that still dripped as he held it up.
Mr. Doherty supposed that he must be the liar, but only allowed himself to look confounded for the moment; the next, he was emptying his water-bag, from which Denis had already enjoyed a deep pull, over the wounds. The sheep had scattered right and left, but the horse stood apparently fast asleep in the sun.
"Now up you jump," said Doherty. "He's as quiet as a cow."
Denis stared at him.
"Jump up? What for?"
"You're within a mile of the homestead. You struck the right track on top."