I've got a bullet through my showlther, and I'm nearly crushed to death and devoured by those imp-like divils o' monkeys." "Here, you two," cried the Sergeant surlily, "uncoil your reins, and make them fast round this dead horse's neck." Our two followers quickly executed the order, and then, the other ends of the plaited raw-hide ropes being secured to rings in their saddles, they urged on their horses, which made a plunge or two and dragged their dead fellow enough on one side for the Sergeant, with my help, to lift the poor rider clear.
"The blessing of all the saints be upon you both!" he moaned.

"There's some lint in my pouch; just put a bit of a bandage about my showlther.
I'm Captain Moriarty, an officer and a gintleman, who yields as a prisoner, and I want to be carried to yer commanding officer." He spoke very feebly at first; but the water and the relief from the pressure of the horse revived him, and he began to breathe more freely, his eyes searching my face in a puzzled way as if he thought he had seen me before.
I took no heed, but did as he suggested; and, finding the lint and a bandage, roughly bound up the wound, which had long ceased bleeding.
"Can ye fale the bullet in the wound, me young inimy ?" he said, with a sigh.
"No," I replied, looking him full in the eyes.

"Our doctor will see to that." "Then ye've got a docthor with ye ?" he said, pretty strongly now.
"Of course we have," growled the Sergeant, whose countenance seemed to me then to bear a remarkable resemblance to that of a mastiff dog who was angry because his master spoke civilly to a stranger he wanted to hunt off the premises.

"Do you take us for savages ?" "Silence, sor!" cried our prisoner, "or I'll report ye to yer officer." "Silence yourself!" cried the Sergeant.

"What do you want with a doctor, you Irish renegado turncoat?
You said you were a dead man." "Whisht! I'm a prisoner; but I'm an officer and a gintleman .-- Here, boy, ordher your min to carry me out of this." "My men!" I said, laughing.