at had taken place, and found Tom Brixton and the bear
dead--as he imagined--on the blood-stained turf.

He uttered a mighty cry, partly to relieve his feelings and partly to
recall his friend. The imprudence of this flashed upon him when too
late, for others, besides Fred, might have heard him.

But Tom Brixton was not dead. Soon after the dying bear had fallen on
him, he recovered consciousness, and shaking himself clear of the
carcass with difficulty had arisen; but, giddiness returning, he lay
down, and while in this position, overcome with fatigue, had fallen
asleep. Paddy's shout aroused him. With a sense of deadly peril
hanging over him he leaped up and sprang on the Irishman.

"Hallo, Paddy!" he cried, checking himself, and endeavouring to wipe
from his face some of the clotted blood with which he had been deluged.
"_You_ here? Are you alone?"

"It's wishin' that I was," replied the little man, looking round
anxiously. "Mister Fred 'll be here d'rectly, sor--an'--an' I hope
that'll be all. But it's alive ye are, is it? An' didn't I take ye for
dead. Oh! Mister Brixton, there's more blood on an' about ye, I do
belave, than yer whole body could howld."

Before an answer could be returned, Fred Westly, having heard Paddy's
shout, came running up.

"Oh! Tom, Tom," he cried, eagerly, "are you hurt? Can you walk? Can
you run? The whole camp is out after you."

"Indeed?" replied the fugitive, with a frown. "It would seem that even
my _friends_ have joined in the chase."

"We have," said the other, hurriedly, "but not to capture--to save, if
possible. Come, Tom, can you make an effort? Are you hurt much? You
are so horribly covered with blood--"

He stopped short, for at that moment a shout was heard in the distance.
It was replied to in another direction nearer at hand.

There happened to be a man in the party which Westly had joined, named
Crossby. He had suffered much from thieves, and had a particular spite
against Brixton because he had lost to him at play. He had heard Paddy
Flinders's unfortunate shout, and immediately ran in the direction
whence it came; while others of the party, having discovered the
fugitive's track, had followed it up.

"Too late," groaned Fred on hearing Crossby's voice.

"Not too late for _this_," growled Brixton, bitterly, as he quickly
loaded his rifle.

"For God's sake don't do that, Tom," cried his friend earnestly, as he
laid his hand on his arm; bu