Not if he'd been sober either.

We'd been drinking all night at that Willow Tree shanty.

Bad grog, too! When a man's half drunk he's fit for any devilment that comes before him.

Drink! How do you think a chap that's taken to the bush--regularly turned out, I mean, with a price on his head, and a fire burning in his heart night and day--can stand his life if he don't drink?
When he thinks of what he might have been, and what he is! Why, nearly every man he meets is paid to run him down, or trap him some way like a stray dog that's taken to sheep-killin'.

He knows a score of men, and women too, that are only looking out for a chance to sell his blood on the quiet and pouch the money.