th the other, and
trying to lift him higher out of the water. I noticed Bogan's face
was bleeding--there was a dead limb stuck in the tree with nasty sharp
points on it, and I reckoned he'd run his face against one of them.
Campbell was gasping like a codfish out of water, and he was the
whitest man I ever saw (except one, and _he'd_ been drowned for a week).
Campbell had the sense to keep still. We asked Bogan if he could hold
on, and he said he could, but he couldn't hold Campbell any longer.
So Jake took the oars and I leaned over the stern and caught hold of
Campbell, and Jake ran the boat into the bank, and we got him ashore;
then we went back for Bogan and landed him.

"We had some whisky and soon brought Campbell round; but Bogan was
bleeding like a pig from a nasty cut over his good eye, so we bound wet
handkerchiefs round his eyes and led him to a log and he sat down for
a while, holding his hand to his eye and groaning. He kept saying, `I'm
blind, mates, I'm blind! I've lost me other eye!' but we didn't dream
it was so bad as that: we kept giving him whisky. We got some dry boughs
and made a big fire. Then Bogan stood up and held his arms stiff down
to his sides, opening and shutting his hands as if he was in great pain.
And I've often thought since what a different man Bogan seemed without
his clothes and with the broken bridge of his nose and his eyes covered
by the handkerchiefs. He was clean shaven, and his mouth and chin are
his best features, and he's clean limbed and well hung. I often thought
afterwards that there was something of a blind god about him as he stood
there naked by the fire on the day he saved Campbell's life--something
that reminded me of a statue I saw once in the Art Gallery. (Pity the
world isn't blinder to a man's worst points.)

"Presently Jake listened and said, `By God, that's lucky!' and we heard
a steamer coming up-river and presently we saw her coming round the
point with a couple of wool-barges in tow. We got Bogan aboard and got
some clothes on him, and took him ashore at Bourke to the new hospital.
The doctors did all they knew, but Bogan was blind for life. He never
saw anything again--except `a sort of dull white blur,' as he called
it--or his past life sometimes, I suppose. Perhaps he saw that for the
first time. Ah, well!

"Bogan's old enemy, Barcoo-Rot, went to see him in the hospital, and
Bogan said, `Well, Barcoo, I reckon we've had our last fight. I owe you
a hidi