sight of the weapon had a sobering effect upon the doctor. He rose,
looked at Peter critically for a moment, knocked the weapon out of his
hand, and said slowly and deliberately:

"Wall, ef the case es as serious as that, I (hic) reckon I'd better
come."

Peter was still of the same opinion, so Doc. Wild proceeded to get his
medicine chest ready. He explained afterwards, in one of his softer
moments, that the shooter didn't frighten him so much as it touched his
memory--"sorter put him in mind of the old days in California, and made
him think of the man he might have been," he'd say,--"kinder touched
his heart and slid the durned old panorama in front of him like a flash;
made him think of the time when he slipped three leaden pills into 'Blue
Shirt' for winking at a new chum behind his (the Doc.'s) back when he
was telling a truthful yarn, and charged the said 'Blue Shirt' a hundred
dollars for extracting the said pills."

Joe Middleton's wife is a grandmother now.

Peter passed after the manner of his sort; he was found dead in his
bunk.

Poor Doc. Wild died in a shepherd's hut at the Dry Creeks. The shepherds
(white men) found him, "naked as he was born and with the hide half
burned off him with the sun," rounding up imaginary snakes on a dusty
clearing, one blazing hot day. The hut-keeper had some "quare" (queer)
experiences with the doctor during the next three days and used, in
after years, to tell of them, between the puffs of his pipe, calmly
and solemnly and as if the story was rather to the doctor's credit than
otherwise. The shepherds sent for the police and a doctor, and sent word
to Joe Middleton. Doc. Wild was sensible towards the end. His interview
with the other doctor was characteristic. "And, now you see how far I
am," he said in conclusion--"have you brought the brandy?" The other
doctor had. Joe Middleton came with his waggonette, and in it the
softest mattress and pillows the station afforded. He also, in his
innocence, brought a dozen of soda-water. Doc. Wild took Joe's hand
feebly, and, a little later, he "passed out" (as he would have said)
murmuring "something that sounded like poetry", in an unknown tongue.
Joe took the body to the home station. "Who's the boss bringin'?" asked
the shearers, seeing the waggonette coming very slowly and the boss
walking by the horses' heads. "Doc. Wild," said a station hand. "Take
yer hats off."

They buried him with bush honours, and chiselled his name o