The scouts were loud in their anger against the inconsiderate motorists, and they were perfectly right. The truth was that the men had fled in fear. A chauffeur had taken his master's car without permission to give some of his fellow servants a run, and they dreaded detection, which would get them into trouble at home. However, the car had gone, and its number was not known, and within half a mile there was a meeting of cross roads where the motorists could turn aside without passing through the village. The comrades gave their attention to the matter immediately in hand, and helped the old man to unharness the struggling donkey and draw the little cart back. The poor beast did not attempt to rise when it was freed. There was a cut on the shoulder where it had been struck, but the wound was not bleeding much, and the old man did not think the hurt was so bad as it proved to be. 'S'pose we tried to get Jimmy on his legs,' he proposed, and the two scouts sprang to help him. They were trying to raise the poor brute when a gamekeeper with his gun under his arm came through a gate near at hand. 'Hallo, Thatcher, what's wrong?' he called out. 'Why, 'tis one o' these here danged motor-cars,' replied the old man. 'Gooin' faster than an express train along this narrow way, an' knocked Jimmy into the ditch.' The gamekeeper came up, and at the first glance called upon them to lay the donkey down again. 'Let me have a look at him,' he said. 'That cut's nothing. There's worse than that cut, I fancy.' 'I hope no bones have a-gone,' said the donkey's master. 'That's just where it is, Thatcher,' said the gamekeeper, after a short examination. 'The poor beast's shoulder is a-broke right across. He'll ne'er stand on his four legs again.' Thatcher uttered a cry of distress. 'Broke across, ye say, keeper! Then what's to be done with him?' 'Nothing,' said the keeper; 'there's nothing ye can do to cure him. The poor brute's in agony now. Look at his eyes!' 'Nothin' ye can do,' repeated the owner in a dull voice, his eyes almost as full of distress as those of his injured helpmate. 'An' Jimmy were the best donkey as iver pulled a cart.' 'Nothin' at all,' said the keeper, ''cept a charge o' No. 6,' and he tapped the breech of his gun significantly. 'Shoot him?' cried old Thatcher. 'It's that or let him die slowly in misery,' replied the keeper. 'If ye like I'll put him out of his pain before I go on, but I can't stay long, for I've got to meet someone in Hayton Spinney, and I ought to be there now.' 'You're quite sure nothing can be done?' said Dick to the keeper. 'Perfectly sure, sir,' replied the man; 'the shoulder bone's clean gone. If it wor' a hunter worth three hundred guineas nothing could be done to save the creature's life.'