Gilbert was in despair; it was piteous to see his white agonised face as he held his brother in his arms.
"Will the brute come back?" he asked.
"Not likely," answered Macgregor. "I should think he was mortally wounded; the man took good aim."
"Do you know who he was?" asked Gilbert.
"No, but now I come to think of it, being a native he had no right to firearms; he must have been one of those outlaws."
"Pray don't quarrel with him. It's a mercy he was armed," said Frank with a groan.
"No, indeed we won't," answered Mr. Macgregor, "even if we came across him, we should have to let him go scot free, I think. There, are you easier now?"
With infinite care they slipped Frank on to the stretcher, but nevertheless the agony was so great that he lost consciousness. Gilbert thought he was dead; Macgregor laid his hand on his shoulder and said kindly—
"Steady, lad, he's only fainted."
"Oh!" said Gilbert with a short gasp, as he rose and stood on one side to let the bearers lift their burden.