"My God, he's off!" cried Jim. "Here, run to the burn. Jock, for a
hatful of water. Quick, man, or he's gone! I'll loosen his things the
while." Away I tore, and was back in a minute with as much water as
would Stay in my Glengarry. Jim had pulled open the man's coat and
shirt, and we doused the water over him, and forced some between his
lips. It had a good effect; for after a gasp or two he sat up and
rubbed his eyes slowly, like a man who is waking from a deep sleep.
But neither Jim nor I were looking at his face now, for our eyes were
fixed upon his uncovered chest.

There were two deep red puckers in it, one just below the collar bone,
and the other about half-way down on the right side. The skin of his
body was extremely white up to the brown line of his neck, and the angry
crinkled spots looked the more vivid against it. From above I could see
that there was a corresponding pucker in the back at one place, but not
at the other. Inexperienced as I was, I could tell what that meant.
Two bullets had pierced his chest; one had passed through it, and the
other had remained inside.

But suddenly he staggered up to his feet, and pulled his shirt to, with
a quick suspicious glance at us.

"What have I been doing?" he asked. "I've been off my head. Take no
notice of anything I may have said. Have I been shouting?"

"You shouted just before you fell."

"What did I shout?"