"Who's hurt?" cried Sir John. "Do you hear?--who's hurt?" There was no answer, only the trampling of feet rapidly receding; and it was the major who now spoke. "Jack," he cried, "I can't move; I'm tied, I'm afraid it's Rolph." "God forbid!" groaned Sir John. "Curse the brutes! Here, my arm's smashed," muttered someone, struggling to his feet. "Hi, Sir John!--Major!" "You, Rolph? Thank heaven!" cried Sir John. "I was afraid you were killed. Where's Morton?" "Here, Sir John," said a faint voice. "Don't say you're shot, man." "No, Sir John. Crack on the head." "Then who is hurt?" said the major. "Here, someone, untie or cut this line." "I'm a bit hurt," said Rolph; "arm bruised, and a touch on the head, too." "But someone must have been shot. Did you fire?" said Sir John. "I think I did. Yes," said Rolph, "I got a crack on the arm, and I had a finger on the trigger." "Then someone is down," cried Sir John. "Where are our men?" "Gone for help, I think," said the major drily, as Rolph succeeded in loosening Sir John's hands. "The cowardly scoundrels!" roared Sir John. "Here, let's pursue the poachers." "No, no," said the major. "We're defeated this time, Jack, and they've retired. Thank you, Morton. I think we four made a good fight of it, and--ah, poor fellow!" he cried, bending down. "Nero, Nero, good dog then." In the darkness they could just see the great dog make an effort to reach the major's hand, but the attempt resulted in a painful moan; a shudder, a faint struggle, and death. "I'll swear it was not my shot killed him," cried Rolph excitedly. "Say no more about it," said Sir John; "it was an accident. I'd sooner one of the scoundrels had had it in his skin, though. I wouldn't have taken fifty pounds for that dog." "Poor old fellow!" said the major, who was kneeling beside the dog, and he stroked the great ears; "but," he added softly to himself, "I've had enough of blood: thank God it was not a man." A series of loud whistles brought back some of the scattered forces, the men meeting with such an ovation from Sir John that they began to think they had better have had it out honourably with the poachers; and then a stout sapling was cut down, and the dog's paws being tied, he was carried home to the stable-yard on the shoulders of two watchers. After this, there was much beer drinking in the servant's-hall, and much discussion in the library, where a piece of sticking-plaister was sufficient to remedy Rolph's wound, his arm was bathed, and Glynne did not faint. Rolph soon after retired for the night, the major noting that he was looking very pale and uneasy. Twice over he went and looked at himself in the glass, and once he shuddered and stood staring over his shoulder, as if expecting to see someone there. "Man can't help his gun going off in the excitement of an action," he said slowly. "What a fool I was not to own up that I had shot the big dog."