No horseman could ride a hundred yards in that timber at night.
Coachers and all were gone together, and the dispirited hunters gathered at the edge of the scrub and looked at each other.
"Well, Mister, you couldn't stop him," said the old man.
"I'm afraid I made--rather a mess of things, don't you know," said the Englishman.

"I thought I hit him the second time, too.

Seemed to be straight at him." "I think you done very well to miss us! I heard one bullet whiz past me like a scorpyun.

Well, it can't be helped.

Those old coachers will all battle their way home again before long.