‘There was only one man shot the whole time I was there,’ replied Brandon, ‘and he was killed in an attempt to take him prisoner by Bothwell and his native police. He had nearly tomahawked Will Lorton, and but for accidental assistance would have had his scalp, figuratively, to a dead certainty.’ ‘How far was that from here?’ asked Mr. Neuchamp. ‘Fully eight hundred miles, so that there is no chance of your falling in for a blood feud. None of the slain man’s kin could get here, if the life of the whole tribe depended upon it.’ ‘And was it absolutely necessary to put the aboriginal you speak of to death?’ asked the philanthropic Ernest. ‘It was necessary to punish any black,’ replied Brandon, ‘who raised his hand with intent to slay against any white man in that district and at that time. Without such a penalty implicitly carried out, the country would have become uninhabitable.’ ‘Suppose we have a glass of whisky,’ proposed Parklands; ‘this is my last evening, and we must drink prosperity to Neuchamp, and success to all his undertakings. Here are the materials; and now, Aymer, I suggest that you give us the story of the man-hunt, where you were in at the death. Neuchamp is dying to hear it, and if you don’t tell me, I shall never leave off spreading reports that you and Lorton killed a whole tribe in cold blood―men, women, and children.’ ‘There are only two courses open to me that I perceive,’ answered Brandon: ‘I must either knock you down and so trample out this slander, or tell the story my own way. I have a foolish feeling of compunction as to the former proceeding, so I may possibly gratify your curiosity. As Mickey Free says, the night is young and drink plenty.’ Mr. Neuchamp, though a foe to excess, did not disdain a moderate allowance of ‘old spirits’ from time to time. He was particularly led on this eventful night to bear himself in a sociable and sympathetic manner. There was no chance of work being done or thought of till morning light. So he drew up his chair, filled his glass, and looked fixedly at the calm features of Aymer Brandon, who, much pressed and entreated, at length commenced his tale of years long past.