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"Peck Bradley shot Tug! I knew he would!"

Horror filled Nessie's face; she cried, "Oh, Abner!" and her shaking hand could hardly hold her candle.

Next moment Abner rushed back to his own room. The bearers were laying Tug on the bed, and up the crowded stairs hurried the doctor, the loiterers pressing to one side to let him pass.

The man of medicine had his bags. When he entered the room he called for more lights and a bowl of hot water. There was a confused passing of this message downstairs. Presently Miss Scovell appeared with her dress half fastened; in one hand she bore a plain lamp, in the other the flowered parlour lamp. Behind her, rather more than half asleep, dozed the Negro boy with a bowl of warm water insecurely held. Someone took it.

"Turn him over on his face," directed the doctor.

The four men turned Tug over. At the sight exposed came gasps and exclamations. Two or three of the weak-stomached left the room. The doctor stooped over Tug with probes and knives.

"Buckshot," he said in an undertone.

"Will he git well, Doctor?"

"How do I know! Get out of here, you folks who ain't doin' anything!"

There was a half-hearted movement toward the door. The doctor began cutting, and a number of the curious bolted from the room.

Among these was Abner.