His hands relaxed their hold on the mane, and he fell flat on his face; and, Berkley, still hanging to the bit, dragged the prostrate man over on his back and stared into his deathly features.
"Where did they hit you, sir ?" "Through the liver," he gasped.

"It's all right, Berkley.

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.

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Don't wait any longer-----" "I'm not going to leave you." "You must.