ack of three men who faced him. It was but a
moment's tableau. The men rushed in. Muffled cries, blows, a single
clash of steel, and Pierre's voice rose above the sound of conflict.
"For the love of God, give me help, M'sieur!" He had seen Philip rush
up to the edge of the break in the cliff, and as he fought he cried out
again.

"Shoot, M'sieur! In a moment it will be too late!"

Philip had drawn his heavy revolver. He watched for an opportunity. The
men were fighting now so that Pierre had been forced between his
assailants and the breach in the wall. There was no chance to fire
without hitting him.

"Run, Pierre!" shouted Philip. "Run--"

He fired once, over the heads of the fighters, and as Pierre suddenly
darted to one side in obedience to his command there came for the first
time a shot from the other side. The bullet whistled close to his ears.
A second shot, and Pierre fell down like one dead among the rocks.
Again Philip fired--a third and a fourth time, and one of the three who
were disappearing in the white gloom stumbled over a rock, and fell as
Pierre had fallen. His companions stopped, picked him up, and staggered
on with him. Philip's last shot missed, and before he could reload they
were lost among the upheaved masses of the cliff.

"Pierre!" he called. "Ho! Pierre Couchee!"

There was no answer from the other side.

He ran along the edge of the break, and in the direction of the forest
he found a place where he could descend. In his haste he fell; his
hands were scratched, blood flowed from a cut in his forehead when he
dragged himself up to the face of the cliff again. He tried to shout
when he saw a figure drag itself up from among the rocks, but his
almost superhuman exertions had left him voiceless. His wind whistled
from between his parted lips when he came to Pierre.

Pierre was supporting himself against a rock. His face was streaming
with blood. In his hand he held what remained of the rapier, which had
broken off close to the hilt. His eyes were blazing like a madman's,
and his face was twisted with an agony that sent a thrill of horror
through Philip.

"My hurt is nothing--nothing-M'sieur!" he gasped, understanding the
look in Philip's face. "It is Jeanne! They have gone--gone with
Jeanne!" The rapier slipped from his hand and he slid weakly down
against the rock. Philip dropped upon his knees, and with his
handkerchief began wiping the blood from the half-breed's face. For a
few m