“Yes,” said the Cornishman, “an out-and-out lie; and I could play the same cards as you, and show judge here and all of you the mark of your bullets in one of my young friends’ shoulder, and on the other’s skull. But I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” said the dark man. “Let’s see them.”
“Hear, hear! Bravo, judge! Right, right!” came in chorus.
“Very good, gentlemen,” said the Cornishman, turning calmly to Dallas. “You show first.”
“It is nearly healed up now,” said Dallas.
“Hor, hor, hor!” laughed the man with the red beard, “hear him!”
Dallas gave him a fierce glance, and as his captors set him free he hastily slipped off jacket and waistcoat, before tearing open his shirt and laying bare an ugly red scar where a bullet had ploughed his shoulder; and a murmur once more arose.
“That will do,” said the dark man. “Now the other.”
“I have nothing to show,” said Abel. “The bullet struck my cap, and just glanced along the side of my head.”
“Come close under the lamp,” said the dark man sternly.