What Hunky Ben saw on looking through his peep-hole filled him with surprise and pity, and compelled him to modify his plans.
Almost below him on a brush couch, lay the tall form of Buck Tom, with the unmistakable hue of approaching death upon his countenance. Beside him, holding his head, kneeled the much-wasted figure of Leather—the reputed outlaw. Seated or standing around in solemn silence were six of the outlaws, most of whom bore tokens of the recent fight, in the form of bandage on head or limb.
“I brought you to this, Leather; God forgive me,” said the dying man faintly.
“No, you didn’t, Ralph,” replied the other, calling him by his old familiar name, “I brought myself to it. Don’t blame yourself, Ralph; you weren’t half so bad as me. You’d never have been here but for me. Come, Ralph, try to cheer up a bit; you’re not dying. It’s only faint you are, from loss of blood and the long gallop. When you’ve had a sleep and some food, you’ll feel stronger. We’ll fetch a doctor soon, an’ he’ll get hold o’ the bullet. Dear Ralph, don’t shake your head like that an’ look so solemn. Cheer up, old boy!”
Leather spoke with a sort of desperate fervour, but Ralph could not cheer up.
“No,” he said sadly, “there is no cheer for me. I’ve thrown my life away. There’s no hope—no mercy for me. I’ve been trying to recall the past, an’ what mother used to teach me, but it won’t come. There’s only one text in all the Bible that comes to me now. It’s this—‘Be sure your sin will find you out!’ That’s true, boys,” he said, turning a look on his comrades. “Whatever else may be false, that’s true, for I know it.”
“That’s so, dear Ralph,” said Leather earnestly, “but it’s no less true that—”
Just then a noise was heard in the outer passage; then hurrying footsteps. Instinctively every man drew his revolver and faced the door. Next moment Jake entered.
“Here, one of you; a drink—I’m fit to—ha!”
His eyes fell on the figure of Buck and he shrank back for a moment in silent surprise.