“Who’s been killed?” asked Jimmie.
“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know!” was the reply. “I sat there holding the rope until I thought you’d deserted me, then I tied it to a point of rock and prepared to descend. Before I could do so, the whole surface of the ledge above the pit became covered with moving figures. They swarmed toward me and I threw myself flat on the ground. I shall never get over the scare I received!”
“Go on,” said Ned, impatiently.
“There must have been two parties, or two halves of the same party, coming in from different directions,” the confidential clerk continued, “for they fired shots at each other, and I heard one body go tumbling and grinding to the bottom of the pit. It was awful!”
“Then what?” asked Jimmie.
“Then they scuffled about for a time,” Gilroy went on, “and I heard more shots and some one else fell. To the end of my life I shall hear the grinding of his bones as he struck the rocks!”
“Did you hear any talk?” asked Ned.
“Oh, I don’t know!” was the answer. “I heard talk, but I can’t tell you what was said!”
“And then you slid down the rope?” Jimmie asked.
“Yes,” was the mournful reply, “and I shall never be able to hold a pen again. My hands are stripped to the bone.”