called
in a lot of his friends for some reason or other--and there's a regular
mass-meeting in there. Go in, and get rid of 'em. I'll look after baby
Filgee--though the little chap will be all right again after another
dressing."

The master cast a hurried look of relief at the surgeon, and re-entered
the front room. It was filled with men whom the master instinctively
recognized as his former adversaries. But they gave way before him with
a certain rude respect and half abashed sympathy as McKinstry called him
to his side. The wounded man grasped his hand. "Lift me up a bit," he
whispered. The master assisted him with difficulty to his elbow.

"Gentlemen!" said McKinstry, with a characteristic wave of his crippled
hand towards the crowd as he laid the other on the master's shoulder.
"Ye heerd me talkin' a minit ago; ye heer me now. This yer young man as
we've slipped up on and meskalkilated has told the truth--every time!
Ye ken tie to him whenever and wherever ye want to. Ye ain't expected to
feel ez I feel, in course, but the man ez goes back on HIM--quo'lls with
me. That's all--and thanks for inquiring friends. Ye'll git now, boys,
and leave him a minit with me."

The men filed slowly out, a few lingering long enough to shake the
master's hand with grave earnestness, or half smiling, half abashed
embarrassment. The master received the proffered reconciliation of
these men, who but a few hours before would have lynched him with equal
sincerity, with cold bewilderment. As the door closed on the last of the
party he turned to McKinstry. The wounded man had sunk down again, but
was regarding with drowsy satisfaction a leaden bullet he was holding
between his finger and thumb.

"This yer shot, Mr. Ford," he said in a slow voice, whose weakness was
only indicated by its extreme deliberation, "never kem from the gun I
gave ye--and was never fired by you." He paused and then added with his
old dull abstraction, "It's a long time since I've run agin anythin'
that makes me feel more--kam."

In Mr. McKinstry's weak condition the master did not dare to make
Johnny's revelation known to him, and contented himself by simply
pressing his hand, but the next moment the wounded man resumed,--

"That ball jest fits Seth's navy revolver--and the hound hes made tracks
outer the country."

"But what motive could he have in attacking YOU at such a time?" asked
the master.

"He reckoned that either I'd kill you and so he'd got sh