When he came to, he was lying by the well with a bag under his head,
and the strange white man was trying to pour some spirits down his
throat.
"I'm--all right--thanks!" gasped Hugh.
"By Gord, Mister, it's lucky I happened to come along," said the
stranger. "You an' Sampson'd ha' both been drownded. That Chow
couldn't haul him up. Dead beat the Chow was when I came. I jis'
come ridin' up, thinkin' to get a few pound of onions to take out
to the camp, and I see the Chow a-haulin' and a-haulin' at that
windlass like as if he was tryin' to pull the bottom out of the
well. I rides up and sings out "What ho! Chaney, what yer got?" And
he says, "Ketch hold," he says, and that was all he could say; he
was fair beat. And then I heard you singing out, and I says to
meself, "Is the whole popperlation of the Northern Territory down
this here well? How many more is there, Chancy?" I says. And then
bung goes the old windlass, and lucky it ketched in the top of the
well; if it had fell down on the top of you, it'd ha' stiffened
you all right. And how you got up that well beats me. By Cripes,
it does."
"How's the--man that--was down with me?" said Hugh slowly.
"What, Sampson? 'E's all right. Couldn't kill'm with a meat-axe.
He must ha' swallowed very near all the water in that well. Me an'
the Chow emptied very near two buckets out of him. He's dead to
the world jes' now. How do you feel, boss?"
"I'll be all right in a minute," said Hugh. "What's your name?"
"I'm Tommy Prince," said the stranger. "I jist kem in from my camp
to-day for them onions."
Hugh drew a long breath. The luck had turned at last.