“At the farther end of the hall now appeared one of the professors. He stepped in front of the notice-board, and pinned a slip of white paper to the green baize-covered surface. In a moment the portico was cleared; and the men crowded in to read the announcement. They did not rush noisily, as Freshmen, or even Sophomores, might have done; but their eagerness was tempered with dignity. The Seniors, in particular, were careful to be properly deliberate; for announcements were expected by both classes, and this might prove to be merely a Junior list!
“It was a Junior list. Leaning on each other’s shoulders, the Juniors clustered around the board, while the Seniors lingered on the outskirts, and inquired with polite interest about the results. They were mindful that these Juniors would very soon be Seniors, and were therefore to be treated with a good deal of consideration. Then they dropped away in twos and threes, while the Juniors remained to take down the marks.
“The marks which excited so much interest were those of the third terminal examination in Latin. A Latin scholarship, of the value of one hundred dollars, was dependent on the results of three terminals, compulsory for all the Latin students of the Junior class, and on a special examination to be held at the very end of the term. This examination was open only to those declaring themselves competitors for the scholarship. It was generally expected throughout the college that the winner would be Bert Knollys, who, without effort, had gained a slight lead in the first two terminals, and whose ability in classics was unquestioned.
“At the top of the present announcement stood Knollys’s name with percentage of eighty-six. The second name on the list was that of J. S. Wright, with eighty-three to his credit.
“‘Wright’s pulling up! Five more points will put him ahead!’ was the remark of one man who had been figuring on his pad.
“Wright, a sharp-featured, sandy-haired fellow in the centre of the group, nodded his approval of this calculation. At the same moment, a slim youth of barely middle height, with laughing gray eyes and crisply-waving hair, ran up and peered eagerly through the throng of his comrades. Having deciphered his standing, he was turning away as abruptly as he had come, when some one said, —
“‘You’d better look out, Knollys! Wright is after you with a sharp stick!’
“‘I don’t doubt Jack can beat me if he tries!’ responded Knollys.
“‘Hold on a minute, Bert; I want to talk to you a bit!’ exclaimed a tall Junior by the name of Will Allison, extricating himself quickly from the crowd.
“‘Next hour, old man!’ cried Knollys, darting away. ‘I’ve got to catch Dawson in the laboratory, right off, and can’t wait a second!’
“Allison, who was Knollys’s most intimate friend, crossed the hall, and joined a Senior who was lounging in a window overlooking the terrace.
“‘It’s my firm belief, Jones,’ said he discontentedly, ‘that that cad, Jack Wright, is going to play Bert false!’
“‘How so, pray?’ inquired the Senior, in a tone of very moderate interest.
“‘Why, by going into the special exam., of course!’ replied Allison.
“‘And why shouldn’t he, as well as Knollys, go into the special examination?’ asked Jones.
“‘Oh, I thought every one knew about that!’ exclaimed Allison somewhat impatiently. ‘But it’s this way, since you inquire. Wright took the scholarship for our class last year – the Second Year Greek, you know. Well, Knollys was way ahead on the average of the terminals, and would have had a walk-over. As every man in the class knows, he can wipe out all the rest of us in classics without half trying. But Wright went to him, and made a poor mouth about being so hard up that he’d have to leave college if he didn’t get the scholarship. Bert has none too much cash himself; but in his generous way he agreed not to go in for the special exam. So Wright, of course, got the scholarship. In return he promised Knollys that he would not go in for the Junior Latin the following year. This suited Bert very well, as he wanted to put his hard work on his readings for the science medal. Under these circumstances, you see, he has been taking it rather easy in the Latin; and I have reason to believe that Wright has been working extra hard at it. Mark my words, he’ll go in at the last moment and catch Bert napping. But there’s not another man in college that I would suspect of such a caddish trick.’
“‘Well, for my part,” said the Senior, ‘I don’t greatly care which gets it. I grant you that Wright’s a cad; but I’m disappointed in Knollys!’
“‘Indeed! Poor Knollys!’ murmured Allison.
“‘Yes,’ continued the Senior loftily, ignoring the sarcasm; ‘in my opinion Knollys funks.’
“‘It seems to me, Jones,’ retorted Allison, ‘you forget certain incidents that took place when Bert Knollys was a Freshman, and you a Sophomore!”
“‘Oh,’ said the Senior, calmly looking over Allison’s head, ‘the worm will turn! But what I’m thinking about is his refusal to play foot-ball last fall. He’s quick, and sharp, and tough; just the man the team wanted for quarter-back, if only he had the nerve! Said he was too busy to train – indeed!’ and Jones sniffed contemptuously as he turned away to join some members of his own class, leaving Allison in a fume of indignation.
“At this moment Jack Wright, chancing to stroll past the big black dog, gave the animal a careless kick. The dog sprang at his assailant with a ferocious snarl. Much startled, Wright evaded the attack by dodging into a knot of his classmates; and the dog lay down again, growling angrily.
“‘Bran doesn’t seem to be quite himself!’ remarked a Senior, eying him narrowly.
“‘He’d be an ugly customer to handle if he started to run amuck,’ commented another Senior, chuckling at Wright’s discomfiture. ‘I wonder where he got that bite on his leg!’
“This was something which nobody knew; and the incident was promptly forgotten by all but Jack Wright, who thenceforth gave the animal a wide berth.
“As soon as Knollys came out of the laboratory, Will Allison told him his suspicions in regard to Wright, and urged him to put his energies upon the Latin. But Knollys was always slow to believe that a comrade could be guilty of treachery.
“‘I don’t think Wright is really such a bad lot, old man,’ said he; ‘only his manner is unfortunate, and he isn’t popular.’
“Just three days later appeared on the notice-board the announcement that B. Knollys and J. S. Wright were competitors for the Junior Latin scholarship! The examination was to take place on the following morning. Bert Knollys was hurt and indignant; his friends were furious; and Wright looked craftily triumphant over the prospect of so neatly getting ahead of a rival.
“Knollys was by no means prepared for such a contest as he knew Wright was capable of giving him; but his anger nerved him to the utmost effort. Returning in hot haste to his home in the outskirts of the town, he shut himself into his little study. All through the afternoon he toiled mightily over book and lexicon. About tea time he took a short walk, and then settled down for a night of solid “grind.” He was bound that he would win if it was in him.
“Toward two o’clock, however, eyes and brain alike grew dim, and the meanings began to mix themselves most vexatiously. He sprang up, snatched his cap, let himself out of the house noiselessly, and set forth to wake his wits by a brisk run.
“For the sake of the freer air he took a path traversing the hilltop toward the college. The path ran through the open pastures, and reached at length a rocky ridge just back of the cottage of Doctor Adams, the professor of classics. Here Jack Wright was boarding. As Knollys swung past along the ridge he glanced downward to the professor’s study window; and as he did so a light appeared therein. He halted instinctively; and the next moment his lip was curling with astonished contempt as he saw Jack Wright seat himself before the study table, and stealthily search the drawers. The top of the ridge was so near the window that Knollys, where he leaned against the fence, could see all that went on, as if he had been in the room. At last, after going through almost every drawer with frequent guilty, listening pauses, Wright found what he wanted, an examination paper! After making a hurried copy of it, he returned it to its place; and then, with his lamp turned very low, he stole out of the room.
“Bert Knollys’s first thought was to go at once to Doctor Adams, lay his complaint, and have Wright’s room searched before he could have time to destroy the stolen copy. Then it occurred to him that this would lead inevitably to Wright’s expulsion, and not improbably to his ruin. He therefore dismissed the idea. He hastened back home; tried to study, but found the effort vain; went to bed, and fell asleep without having arrived at any solution of the problem. In the morning he was equally undecided. Perhaps his best course would have been to go to the professor, declare a suspicion that the paper had been tampered with, and ask that a new paper be set. But he failed to think of this way out of the difficulty; and, at last, tired of worrying over it, he made up his mind to do nothing. He went in to the examination, wrote an unusually good paper, and came out feeling that there was yet a chance for him in spite of Wright’s previous knowledge of the questions. But on the day following was posted the announcement that Wright was the winner by a lead of three marks on the average for the four examinations.
“The affair was a grievous disappointment to Bert Knollys, and meant the upsetting of all his plans for the summer. He had counted on the scholarship money to enable him to take a long vacation trip with Will Allison. This scheme he had now to abandon; and Allison could not refrain from reproaching him for his misplaced confidence in Jack Wright. Furthermore, he was accused of petty jealousy by many students outside of his own class; and his popularity, undermined by Wright’s skilful insinuations, rapidly dwindled away. Smarting under the injustice, and seeing no satisfactory way to remove the misunderstanding, Knollys grew moody and depressed.
“The days slipped by quickly, and Commencement was close at hand. One warm afternoon, a number of the students were in the baseball field, where a practice match was in progress. The college Nine was strenuously preparing for the great Commencement Day match. Knollys, Allison, Jones, and a few others, were lying under the fence on the farther side of the field, while most of the spectators were grouped as close as possible to the players. Jack Wright was at the bat.
“Suddenly in the gate of the college barnyard, above the ball-field, appeared Bran, the dog. The hair lifted along his back-bone and on his neck, and a light froth showed about his half-bared teeth. He was a sinister and menacing figure as he stood there, a strange trouble in his wild, red eyes. After glaring uneasily from side to side for several minutes, he gave utterance to a yelping snarl, and darted down the hillside toward the field. The group under the fence observed him at once.
“‘What’s the matter with the dog?’ exclaimed Jones, in a tone of apprehension; and ‘Look at Bran!’ shouted some one else. The pitcher stopped in the very act of delivering the ball, and every eye went in the one direction. The dread truth was evident at once. On all sides arose the appalling cry, ‘He’s mad! Mad dog! Mad dog!’ and players and spectators scattered in sickening panic. As it were in the twinkling of an eye, the field was empty.
“But no! It was not quite empty! Turning in wild terror, and starting to run as he turned, Jack Wright tripped, fell, and snapped his ankle. He got up, and saw himself alone in the wide, sunny field. The dog had just entered the gate, and was making straight for him with foaming, snapping jaws. He strove to flee, but the shattered ankle gave way beneath him; and, with a piercing cry of horror, he dropped in a heap, burying his face in his hands.
“Knollys, like all the rest, had sprung over the fence at the first alarm; but at that despairing cry he sprang back again. There was no hesitation, no waiting to see what the others would do. Swift as a deer he sped out across the shining and deadly expanse. As he ran, he stooped to snatch up a bat which lay in his path. It was a question which would win in the awful race; and the crowd of fugitives, checking their flight, watched in spellbound silence.
“The dog arrived first, but only by a foot or two. As it sprang at Wright’s prostrate body Knollys reached out with a fierce lunge, and caught it between the jaws with the end of the bat. Biting madly at the wood, the animal rose on its hind legs, and in a flash Knollys had both hands clenched in a grip of steel about its throat.
“For a few seconds the struggle was a desperate one. The animal’s strength was great, and Knollys had all he could do to hold him at arm’s length. Then Will Allison arrived, panting, and conscience-stricken for his tardiness. He was followed by two or three others who had broken the spell of their panic. A couple of well-directed blows from the bat in Allison’s hands stunned the dog, and it was then speedily despatched.
“Breathing somewhat quickly, but otherwise quite cool, Knollys looked down upon Jack Wright’s gastly face.
“‘Glad I was in time, Wright!’ said he.
“‘Bert,’ cried Wright, in a shaking voice, ‘you won that scholarship! I just cribbed the whole paper!’
“To thank his rescuer, he felt, was not within the power of words; but reparation was in part possible, and his one thought was to make it.
“‘We won’t talk of that now,’ answered Knollys. ‘I know all about it, Jack! I saw the whole thing; and we just won’t say anything more about it, old fellow!’
“But Wright had fainted from the pain and the shock, and did not hear the forgiveness in Bert’s voice.
“The next day a letter went from Wright’s sick-bed to the president of the college. Wright wanted to tell everything; but on Bert’s advice he merely confessed that he had cribbed, without saying how, and resigned his claim to the scholarship. At Commencement, therefore, it was announced by the president that the Latin scholarship had been won by B. Knollys. Many conflicting rumors, of course, went abroad among the students; but to no one except Will Allison was the whole truth told. As for Wright, a new point of view seemed all at once to have opened before his eyes. The loftier standard which he now learned to set himself, he adhered to throughout the rest of his course, and then carried forth with him into what have proved very creditable and successful relations with the world.”
“Queerman has grown didactic,” said I. “That is surely not the tone for a canoe trip. Ranolf, it’s your turn to take the platform. Let us have something that is simple, unmedicated adventure!”
“I’ll tell you a bicycle story,” said Ranolf; “an unromantic tale of a romantic land. It is all about a bull and a bicycle in the land of Evangeline.”
A BULL AND A BICYCLE
“It was in the autumn of 1889, while the old, high wheels were still in use, that I rode through the Evangeline land with a fellow-wheelman from Halifax. We rolled lazily along a well-kept road, and sang the praises of Nova Scotia’s scenery and air.
“Ahead of us, across a wide, flashing water, the storied expanse of Minas, towered the blue-black bastion of Cape Blomidon, capped with rolling vapors. To our left, and behind us, rose fair, rounded hills, some thickly wooded, others with orchards and meadows on their slopes; while to our right lay far unrolled those rich diked lands which the vanished Acadian farmers of old won back from the sea.
“Though another race now held these lovely regions, we felt that the landscape, through whatever vicissitudes, must lie changelessly under the spell of one enchantment, – the touch of the well-loved poet. We felt that something more than mere beauty of scene, however wonderful, was needed to explain the exalted mood which had taken possession of two hungry wheelmen like ourselves; and we acknowledged that additional something in the romance of history and song.
“Presently we came to a stretch of road which had been treated to a generous top-dressing of loose sand. Such ignorance of the principles of good road-making soon brought us down both from our lofty mood and from our laboring wheels. We trudged toilsomely for nearly half a mile, saying unkind things now of the Nova Scotian road-makers, and quite forgetting the melodious sorrows of the Acadian exiles.
“Then we came to the village of Avonport, and were much solaced by the sight of the village inn.
“In the porch of the unpretentious hostelry we found a fellow ’cycler in a sorely battered condition. Several strips of court-plaster, black and pink, distributed artistically about his forehead, nose, and chin, gave a mightily grotesque appearance to his otherwise melancholy countenance. One of his stockings was rolled down about his ankle, and he was busy applying arnica to a badly bruised shin.
“Against the bench on which he was sitting leaned a bicycle which looked as if it had been in collision with an earthquake.
“The poor fellow’s woe-begone countenance brightened up as we entered, and we made ourselves acquainted. He was a solitary tourist from Eastport, Me., and a principal in the important case of Bull versus Bicycle, which had just been decided very much in favor of Bull. We dined together, and as our appetites diminished our curiosity increased.
“Presently Caldwell, as the woe-begone ’cyclist called himself, detailed to us his misadventure, as follows; —
“‘It wasn’t more than an hour before you fellows came that I got here myself. I was in a nice mess, I can tell you. But plenty of cold water and Mrs. Brigg’s arnica and court-plaster have pulled me together a lot. I only hope we can do as much after dinner for that poor old wheel of mine.
“‘This morning I had a fine trip pretty nearly all the way from Windsor. Splendid weather, wasn’t it; and a good hard road most of the way, eh? You remember that long, smooth hill about two miles back from here, and the road that crosses it at the foot, nearly at right angles? Well, as I came coasting down that hill, happy as a clam, my feet over the handles, I almost ran into a party of men, with ropes and a gun, moving along that cross-road.
“‘I stopped for a little talk with them, and asked what they were up to. It appeared that a very dangerous bull had got loose from a farm up the river, and had taken to the road. They were afraid it would gore somebody before they could recapture it. I asked them if they knew which way it had gone; and they told me the “critter” was sure to make right for the dike lands, where it used to pasture in its earlier and more amiable days.
“‘That cross-road was the way to the dikes, and they pursued it confidently. I took it into my head that it would be a lark to go along with them, and see the capture of the obstreperous animal; but the men, who were intelligent fellows and knew what they were talking about, told me I should find the road too heavy and rough for my wheel. Rather reluctantly I bade them good-morning and continued my journey by the highway.
“‘Now, as a fact, that bull had no notion of going to the dikes. He had turned off the cross-road, and sauntered along the highway, just where he could get most fun, and see the most of life. But I’ll venture to say he hadn’t counted on meeting a bicycle.
“‘I hadn’t gone more than half a mile, or perhaps less, when a little distance ahead of me I noticed some cattle feeding by the roadside. I thought nothing of that, of course; but presently one of the cattle – a tremendous animal, almost pure white – stepped into the middle of the road and began to paw the mud. Certain anxious questionings arose within me.
“‘Then the animal put his great head to the earth, and uttered a mighty bellow. With much perturbation of spirit I concluded that the angry bull had not betaken himself to the dikes after all.
“‘I felt very bitter toward those men for this mistake, and for not having suffered me to go along with them on their futile errand. They wanted the bull, and wouldn’t find him. I, on the other hand, had found him, and I didn’t want him at all.
“‘I checked my course, pedalling very slowly, uncertain what to do. The bull stood watching me. If I turned and made tracks he would catch me on the hill or on the soft cross-road. If I took to the woods there was little to gain, for there were no fences behind which to take refuge; and if I should climb a tree I knew the beast would demolish my wheel.
“‘Straight ahead, however, as far as I could see, the road was level and good; and in the distance I saw farms and fences. I decided to keep right on.
“‘The road along there is wide and hard, as you know, and bordered with a deep ditch. I put on good speed; and the bull, as he saw me approaching, looked a little puzzled. He took the wheel and me, I presume, for some unheard of monster. I guessed his meditations, and concluded he was getting frightened.
“‘But there I was mistaken. He was only getting in a rage. He suddenly concluded that it was his mission to rid the world of monsters; and with a roar he charged down to meet me.
“‘“Now,” thought I, “for a trick! and then a race, in which I’ll show a pretty speedy pair of heels!” I rode straight at the bull, who must have had strange misgivings, though he never flinched. At the last possible moment I swerved sharply aside, and swept past the baffled animal in a fine triumphant curve. Before he could stop himself and turn I was away down the road at a pace that I knew would try his mettle.
“‘But the brute had a most pernicious energy. He came thundering and pounding along my tracks at a rate that kept me quite busy. I stayed ahead easily enough, but I did not do much more than that for fear of getting winded.
“‘There’s where I made the mistake, I think. I ought to have done my utmost, in order to discourage and distance my pursuer. I didn’t allow for contingencies ahead, but just pedalled along gayly and enjoyed the situation. Of course I kept a sharp lookout, in order that I shouldn’t take a header over a stone; but I felt myself master of the situation.
“‘At last, and in an evil hour, I came to where they had been mending the road with all that abominable sand. Let us pass over my feelings at this spot. They were indescribable. My wheel almost came to a standstill. Then I called up fresh energies, and bent forward and strained to the task. I went ahead, but it was like wading through a feather-bed; and the bull began to draw nearer.
“‘A little in front the fences began. The first was a high board fence, with a gate in it, and a hay-road leading by a rough bridge into the highway. My whole effort now was to make that gate.
“‘The perspiration was rolling down my face, half-blinding me. My mighty pursuer was getting closer and closer; and I was feeling pretty well pumped. It was as much as a bargain which would win the race. I dared not look behind, but my anxious ears kept me all too well informed.
“‘I reached the bridge and darted across it. Immediately I heard my pursuer’s feet upon it. I had no time to dismount. I rode straight at the gate, ran upon it, and shot over it head-first in a magnificent header, landing in a heap of stones and brambles.
“‘In a glow of triumph, which at first prevented me feeling my wounds, I picked myself up, and beheld the furious beast in the act of trying to gore my unoffending bicycle.
“‘At first he had stopped in consternation, naturally amazed at seeing the monster divided into two parts. The portion which had shot over the gate he perceived to be very like a man; but the other part remained all the more mysterious. Presently he plunged his horns tentatively into the big wheel; whereupon my brave bicycle reared and struck him in the eye with a handle, and set the little wheel crawling up his back.
“‘At this the bull was astonished and alarmed – so much so that he backed off a little way. Then, seeing that the bicycle lay motionless on the ground, he charged upon it again, maltreating it shamefully, and tossing it up on his horns.
“‘This was too much for me. I ran up, reached over the gate, and laid hold of my precious wheel. By strange good fortune I succeeded in detaching it from the brute’s horns and hauling it over the gate. Then I pelted the animal with sticks and stones till he got disgusted and moved away.
“‘As soon as he was safely off the scene I opened the gate and limped sorrowfully down to this place, dragging my wheel by my side. Do you think we can do anything with it?’
“‘The first thing necessary,’ said I, ‘is to have an examination, and make a diagnosis of its injuries.’
“This we forthwith proceeded to do, and found the matter pretty serious. After spending an hour in tinkering at the machine we had to give up the job. Then we set forth on a visit to the village blacksmith who, after being regaled with a full account of Caldwell’s misadventure, addressed himself to his task with vast good-will.
“He was a skilful man, and before nightfall the wheel was in better travelling shape than its unlucky owner. But Caldwell was good stuff, and of a merry heart; so that when, on the following day, he became our travelling companion, we found that his scars and his lugubrious countenance only heightened the effect of his good-fellowship.”
“I think,” said I, “that after a cheerful narrative like Ranolf’s you can stand a somewhat bloody one from me.”
“All right, O. M.,” answered Queerman; “pile on as much gore as you like.”
“Don’t expect too much,” said I. “It’s only another wolf story. The name thereof is —
‘THE DEN OF THE GRAY WOLF.’
“Not long ago I was doing the Tobique with Joe Maxim, an old hunter whom I think none of you have met. We were dropping smoothly down with the current, approaching the Narrows.
“Maxim was a curious and interesting character. Of good old Colonial stock, and equipped in youth with an excellent education, he had found himself, in early manhood, at odds with society and the requirements of civilized life. Perhaps through some remote ancestor there had crept into his veins a streak of Indian or other wandering blood. At any rate, the wilderness had drawn him with a spell that overcame all counter attractions. He drifted to the remotest backwoods, and there devoted himself to hunting and trapping. Never entering the settlements except to purchase supplies or sell his furs, he had spent the best years of his life in an almost unbroken solitude. Yet the few sportsmen who penetrated to his haunts and sought his skilful services found that seclusion had failed to make him morose. He was kindly, and not uncompanionable; and though in appearance one of the roughest of his adopted class, he preserved to a marked degree the speech and accent of his earlier days.
“‘You were speaking just now,’ said he, ‘of the wolves coming back to New Brunswick. Well, they’re here, off and on, most of the time, I reckon. It was not far from here that I had a scrimmage with them about twenty years back.’
“At this point a murmurous roaring began to make itself heard on the still air; and before I could ask any more questions about the wolves, Maxim exclaimed, —
“‘We can’t go through the “Narrows” to-night. Not light enough with this head of water. Better camp right here.’
“‘Agreed!’ said I; and we slid gently up along side of a projecting log. Presently we had the tent pitched on a bit of dry, soft sward that sloped ever so little toward the waterside. Behind the tent was a thicket of spruce that sheltered us from the night wind; and in front laughed softly the river, as it hurried along its shining trail beneath the full moon, to bury itself in the chasms of the dark hill-range which separated it from its sovereign, the wide St. John.
“After supper, when the camp-fire was blazing cheerfully, Maxim told me about the wolves.
“‘Well,’ said he in a reminiscent tone, ‘it was in those hills yonder, very near the Narrows, I struck the wolves. I knew there were a good many of them ’round that winter, as I’d come across lots of their tracks. There was a bounty then of fifteen dollars on a wolf’s snout, – that was twenty years ago, – and I was keeping my eyes pretty well peeled. My lookout was all in vain, however, till along one afternoon I caught sight of one of the skulking vermin dodging behind some bushes, not far from here, but on the other side of the river. It was only a snap shot I got at the beast, but I wounded it; and you’d better believe I lost no time following up the trail. By the way he bled, I could see that he was hard hit.
“‘He led me away up, nigh the top of the mountain, then took a sharp turn to the river; and pretty soon I came out onto a little level place, a sort of high platform, in front of a big, bare slope of rock. In the foot of that rock there was a hole, just about big enough for a man to crawl into on his hands and knees, and into that hole led the trail of my wolf.
“‘“Got him, fast enough!” said I to myself; “but how to get at him – there’s the rub!” As I stood there considering, another wolf slid by me, like a long, gray shadow, and sneaked into the den. Without putting the gun to my shoulder, I gave him a shot, which fetched him in the hindquarters just as he disappeared. “That’s good for thirty dollars,” said I to myself, loading up again, and hoping some more would come along.
“‘They didn’t come; so pretty soon I gave them up, and went and examined the hole. I could see that it narrowed down rapidly, and I hardly knew what to do. I wanted that thirty dollars; but I didn’t want to crawl into that little dark hole after it, with maybe a couple of yet lively wolves waiting at the other end to receive me.’
“‘Why didn’t you leave them there and go back for them next day? By that time, if they were really hard-hit, you’d have found them dead enough!’ was my comment.