"That'll teach the pesky critters a lesson," observed the farmer, as he resumed the reins.
Even as he spoke, they saw a flash in the darkness to one side of the road, followed instantly by the crack of a revolver.
"I'm struck!" exclaimed Mr. Gray. "The villain has hit me in the shoulder!"
"Is it bad?" asked Jack in horror.
"No, only a flesh wound, I guess," and the tool manufacturer drew a sharp breath. "Drive on, don't stop!"
The command was not needed. The team was now in full gallop, and three minutes brought them into the heart of the town.
"Straight home," replied Mr. Gray, in return to a question from Jack as to where he should be taken. "And bring Mosey along, the doctor can attend us both."
This was done, and the family physician pronounced the Irishman's wound quite serious.
"Yours will heal rapidly," he said to the tool manufacturer. "But your right arm will never be as good as it was. That workman may recover, but it will take months."
The sun was just rising when Jack, after a breakfast that Farmer Farrell's wife had compelled him to eat, took the boat and rowed over to Blackbird Island.