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316 thought I heard—another shot—close by." The tired eyelids closed. "I've made good, Shorty, ain't I? … Honourable Jimmy … Regiment great thing … responsibility … greater. …" And so he died.

 

thoughtfully ejected a spent cartridge case from his magazine and pulled back the safety catch. "I'm glad I hit him. It'll be something for the boy to take away with him. I suppose he'll remember it." Shorty's brow wrinkled with the strain of this abstruse theological problem. Then he shrugged his shoulders and gave it up. "So long, son; you made good—you did well. But the old Tank has cleared 'em out, an' I must be toddling on." Then he remembered something, and produced his own patent weapon. It was only as he actually started to cut another nick in the long row which adorned the stock of his rifle that he paused: paused and looked up.

"Lumme! I'd better wait a bit; it wouldn't never do for the boy to know it was me what hit that Hun. I'll just go on a little, I'll … Good-bye, boy; I'm sorry—dam sorry."

With his strange, loping walk the poacher and 