'O'Hara picks up the lamp in the veranda wid a hand as stiddy as a rest. “Fwhat damned dog's thrick is this av yours?” sez he, an turns the light on Tim Vulmea that was shwimmin' in blood from top to toe. The fallin'-block had sprung free behin' a full charge av powther--good care I tuk to bite down the brass af ther takin' out the bullet that there might be somethin' to give ut full worth--an' had cut Tim from the lip to the corner av the right eye, lavin' the eyelid in tatthers, an' so up an' along by the forehead to the hair. 'Twas more av a rakin' plough, if you will ondherstand, than a clean cut; an' niver did I see a man bleed as Vulmea did. The dhrink an' the stew that he was in pumped the blood strong. The minut' the men sittin' on my chest heard O'Hara spakin' they scatthered each wan to his cot, an' cried out very politeful: “Fwhat is ut, Sargint?” '“Fwhat is ut!” sez O'Hara, shakin' Tim. “Well an' good do you know fwhat ut is, ye skulkin' ditch-lurkin' dogs! Get a _doolie,_ an' take this whimperin' scutt away. There will be more heard av ut than any av you will care for.” 'Vulmea sat up rockin' his head in his hand an' moanin' for Father Constant. '“Be done!” sez O'Hara, dhraggin' him up by the hair. “You're none so dead that you cannot go fifteen years for thryin' to shoot me.” '“I did not,” sez Vulmea; “I was shootin' mesilf.” '“That's quare,” sez O'Hara, “for the front av my jackut is black wid your powther.” He tuk up the rifle that was still warm an' began to laugh. “I'll make your life Hell to you,” sez he, “for attempted murdher an' kapin' your rifle onproperly. You'll be hanged first an' thin put undher stoppages for four fifteen. The rifle's done for,” sez he. '“Why, 'tis my rifle!” sez I, comin' up to look; “Vulmea, ye divil, fwhat were you doin' wid her--answer me that?” '“Lave me alone,” sez Vulmea; “I'm dyin'!” '“I'll wait till you're betther,” sez I, “an' thin we two will talk ut out umbrageous.” 'O'Hara pitched Tim into the _doolie_, none too tinder, but all the bhoys kep' by their cots, which was not the sign av innocint men. I was huntin' ivrywhere for my fallin'-block, but not findin' ut at all. I niver found ut. '”_Now_ fwhat will I do?” sez O'Hara, swinging the veranda light in his hand an' lookin' down the room. I had hate and contimpt av O'Hara an' I have now, dead tho' he is, but, for all that, will I say he was a brave man. He is baskin' in Purgathory this tide, but I wish he cud hear that, whin he stud lookin' down the room an' the bhoys shivered before the oi av him, I knew him for a brave man an' I liked him _so_. '“Fwhat will I do?” sez O'Hara agin, an' we heard the voice av a woman low an' sof' in the veranda. 'Twas Slimmy's wife, come over at the shot, sittin' on wan av the benches an' scarce able to walk. '“O Denny!--Denny, dear,” sez she, “have they kilt you?” 'O'Hara looked down the room again an' showed his teeth to the gum. Then he spat on the flure.