Francis Tredegar slowly eased the body down upon the level ground, and then gently drew his hand from under the head. As he did so, he uttered a cry of horror. “What is it?” demanded the doctor. Francis held up the palm of his hand, which was crimson with clotted blood. “Where did that come from?” asked the doctor. “From the back of his head. Oh, he is quite dead, or must be soon! He is shot through the brain!” exclaimed Francis in great distress. “Impossible!” cried the doctor. “No, no, no!” exclaimed Prince Ernest, vehemently. “I shall not shoot him through the brain! I shall not aim at his head at all! I shall aim at his right arm. I shall not wish to kill him, only to punish him! I shall aim at his right arm, but I shall shoot him through the right side! It shall be a chance, an accident, a misfortune. I meant it not—not I!” While the Austrian was skipping and exclaiming, the surgeon was examining the back of Alexander’s head. The hair was matted with blood from a deep wound there. “You see it is as I say—the ball has passed quite through his head, and come out here,” said Francis Tredegar. “Impossible! The ball entered the right side of the chest, passed through the right lobe of the lungs, and is lodged here below the right shoulder-blade. See for yourself!” said the surgeon, laying back Alexander’s shirt-bosom, so as to show the small, dark, inverted hole at which the bullet had entered. “But this wound in the back of his head—?” “Was made by his falling and striking some hard, sharp substance—a fragment of rock, probably.” While the surgeon spoke he was not idle. He took his case of instruments from one assistant and the water from the other. He carefully cut away the blood-clotted hair, and washed and plastered the wound in the head; and then he cut out the bullet, which lay little more than skindeep under the shoulder blade. He dressed the wounds as well as circumstances would permit, and then he said; “We had better take your friend back to his apartments at the hotel. I will continue to give him my best care there.” Francis Tredegar assented. Simms was once more despatched to the hut to borrow its only door and when he returned he not only brought the door, but was followed by the kind-hearted master of the hut, bringing a load of blankets. With these materials a rude litter was constructed, and upon it Alexander’s form was laid. And thus he was borne upon the shoulders of Simms the valet, Knox the hutter, and two laboring men who came and offered their services. Prince Ernest returned to the hotel in his carriage. Major Zollenhoffar and Francis Tredegar walked behind the bearers of the wounded man. Alexander’s cab went back empty. “I say,” said the hotel servants to the cabman as soon as they saw him, “you took a party of gents out to the mountains to look for minerals, didn’t you?” “Yes,” growled the Jehu.