“Why, Moran,” says Mr. Knightley, still making believe to joke—and, by George! if he could laugh then, he could sing a song with a bullet through him—” you’re getting bad-tempered since you used to be horsebreaking for Mr. Lowe. Don’t you remember that chestnut Sir Henry colt that no one else could ride, and I backed you not to get thrown, and won a fiver? But I’m a man of the world and know how to play a losing game at billiards as well as most men. Look here now! Daly’s dead. We can’t bring him to life again, can we? If you shoot me, you’ll be nothing to the good, and have every spare man in the three colonies at your heels. This is a game of brag, though the stakes are high. I’ll play a card. Listen. You shall have a hundred fivers—£500 in notes—by to-morrow at four o’clock, if you’ll let Mrs. Knightley and the doctor ride to Bathurst for the money. What do you say?”

“D--n you and your money, too,” growled Moran. “We’ll have your blood, and nothing else. D’ye hear that? You’re a dead man now; if you’re not buried by this time to-morrow, it won’t be because you’re not as ready for it as Patsey is.”

I saw Mrs. Knightley turn round and clasp her hands; her face grew as white as death, but she said nothing, only looked over at Starlight, and her eyes grew bigger and bigger, while her mouth trembled just the least bit.

“You’re off your head, Moran,” says Mr. Knightley, pulling out a cigar and lighting it. “But I suppose you’re the chief man, and all the rest must do as you tell them.”

“Suppose we talk it over,” says Starlight, very quiet, but I knew by the first word that he spoke something was coming. “Daly dropped, and it can’t be helped. Accidents will happen. If you play at bowls you must take rubbers. It has been a fair fight; no one can say otherwise. Let us put it to the vote. I propose that Mr. Knightley’s offer be accepted. Not that I intend to take a shilling of the money.”

“Nor me either,” says I. “So you three chaps will have it to share between you. I don’t see that we can do better. A fight’s a fight, and if Patsey got his gruel it might have happened, to Mr. Knightley himself. As for shooting in cold blood, I’m not on, and so I tell you.”