This is what he says

MacPherson was the vigorous and persevering gentleman, referred to ina previous chapter, who kept a fatherly eye on the Buenos Ayres sheep. 　　"He seems very satisfied with Mike's friend Wyatt. At the moment ofwriting Wyatt is apparently incapacitated owing to a bullet in theshoulder, but expects to be fit again shortly. That young man seems tomake things fairly lively wherever he is. I don't wonder he found apublic school too restricted a sphere for his energies.""Has he been fighting a duel?" asked Marjory, interested. 　　"Bushrangers," said Phyllis. 　　"There aren't any bushrangers in Buenos Ayres," said Ella. 　　"How do you know?" said Phyllis clinchingly. 　　"Bush-ray, bush-ray, bush-ray," began Gladys Maud, conversationally,through the bread-and-milk; but was headed off. 　　"He gives no details. Perhaps that letter on Mike's plate suppliesthem. I see it comes from Buenos Ayres.""I wish Mike would come and open it," said Marjory. "Shall I go andhurry him up?"The missing member of the family entered as she spoke. 　　"Buck up, Mike," she shouted. "There's a letter from Wyatt. He's beenwounded in a duel.""With a bushranger," added Phyllis. 　　"Bush-ray," explained Gladys Maud. 　　"Is there?" said Mike. "Sorry I'm late."He opened the letter and began to read. 　　"What does he say?" inquired Marjory. "Who was the duel with?""How many bushrangers were there?" asked Phyllis. 　　Mike read on. 　　"Good old Wyatt! He's shot a man.""Killed him?" asked Marjory excitedly. 　　"No. Only potted him in the leg. This is what he says. First page ismostly about the Ripton match and so on. Here you are. 'I'm dictatingthis to a sportsman of the name of Danvers, a good chap who can't helpbeing ugly, so excuse bad writing. The fact is we've been having abust-up here, and I've come out of it with a bullet in the shoulder,which has crocked me for the time being. It happened like this. Anass of a Gaucho had gone into the town and got jolly tight, andcoming back, he wanted to ride through our place. The old woman whokeeps the lodge wouldn't have it at any price. Gave him the absolutemiss-in-baulk. So this rotter, instead of shifting off, proceeded tocut the fence, and go through that way. All the farms out here havetheir boundaries marked by wire fences, and it is supposed to be adeadly sin to cut these. Well, the lodge-keeper's son dashed off insearch of help. A chap called Chester, an Old Wykehamist, and I weredipping sheep close by, so he came to us and told us what had happened.