"Captain Hunter is killed. That brute with the black beard shot him," I blurted out; and it may seem funny to you, but I knew that he would be just as sorry as I was. His face twitched. "That is Schmidt," he said. "He died trying to rescue me," I said, and something seemed to stick in my throat. I could not keep it back, and threw myself on the floor and sobbed and sobbed till tears came. Even now I don’t feel in the least ashamed of myself, and I know that I was absolutely too played out to mind then. "I’m sorry, Glover, I’m mighty sorry, but it would have been up against you if he had hauled you back." He said it so seriously, that a faint idea of what he meant flashed through my mind, and I remembered the second attack which I had listened to whilst I was being carried down the hill, and the endless stream of coolies pouring up the hill. "Why?" I gasped. "Come here," he said, stretching out his hand and drawing me gently to him. "Guess there ain’t no blood on it ’cept my own," he added bitterly, as I half drew back. "You and your chum, young Foote, were the last to shake that hand, youngster, and you wouldn’t have seen me again an’ been still jumping around but for that and one thing besides." I remembered then that Toddles and I had shaken hands with him when he had been exchanged for Ping Sang. "I reckon that if somebody hadn’t just sloshed around and coralled a few of these heathen, and sent ’em up to bring you down at a hundred-dollar bill a head, you’d be getting about stiff by now. If that whole outfit up top there ain’t wiped out by sundown, we’ve got a couple o’ thousand who’ll eat what’s left after dark." He was so earnest, and so evidently believed what he said, that his words made me feel cold with horror. He saw my dismay and said: "I reckon, though, that this combine is just about busted. We shall just have to quit. "Those rotten ships ain’t no more use for fighting than—than—than I am," he finished, and caught his breath as some pain seemed to grip him. He went on in a minute. "See here, youngster, I’m shot clean through the stomach. I reckon I might pull through if it had been a slate-pencil of a Mauser bullet, but it was a Martini bullet, and I’ve got just two more rounds of the sun and then I pass in my checks. I had seen you on top of that hill sticking to little Cummins like a ’possum, and when I got downed I guessed that I’d fish you out to do something particular for me." "The Commander wouldn’t let me stick to him if he could help it," I said. "He was afraid of my being shot, for he knew that he was being fired at." Hopkins smiled. "Guess he didn’t calculate that I stopped ’em potting at him when you were in his vicinity. I’ll show you why." He put his arm under his pillow and drew out a photograph, looking at it with strange eyes, and handed it to me. "Guess that’s the reason." It was a photograph of Milly, and just like the one Mr. Pattison had.