His chum, Walter Savage was of the same surly type.
The two had come from England twelve years before, and had been together ever since.

Savage was killed in the struggle for the fence described in the preceding chapter.

Ned could not realize for a while that his friend was dead.

It was only when the body rapidly stiffened on its icy bed, and the eyes which had been gleaming deadly hate when he was stricken down were glazed over with the dull film of death, that he believed he was gone from him forever.

Then his rage was terrible.