But that was not the cause of his death, for his jacket and shirt were torn open and a rough bandage had slipped down from the upper part of his chest, where a bullet-wound showed plainly enough that his lungs must have been pierced, and that he had bled to death.
"Poor chap!" said the Sergeant softly; "he's got it.

Well, he died like a brave man.

Came up here, I s'pose, for shelter." "There's another over yonder," I said excitedly, for about fifty yards away from where we were grouped, and high above us, the baboons were leaping about and chattering more than ever.
"Shouldn't wonder," said the Sergeant; "and he aren't dead.

Trying to scare those ugly little beggars away." "I'll soon see," I said; and as I urged Sandho on, the shrinking beast cautiously picked his way past the dead group, and we soon got up to a narrow rift full of bushes, the path among the rocks running right up to the highest point, towards which the baboons began to retire now, chattering away, but keeping a keen watch on our proceedings.
"Another dead horse, Sergeant," I shouted back.
"Never mind the horse," cried Briggs.

"Be ready, and shoot the wounded man down at sight if he doesn't throw up his hands.