"I have sworn to see him hanged," he said, "and nothing shall keep me away— nothing, by——. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. Now there is none. She fought him at first, screaming at him, but he did not relent. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. Natives are queer. It’s awkward, but we’ll get round it somehow.
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