it was more precious to
him than it had ever been, and to lose it in a silly brawl with
semi-savages. He cursed himself impotently and rebelliously for a
senseless fool.

"Keep back, can't you?" he heard Langham calling to him from the shore.
"You're only drawing the fire toward Hope. She's got away by now. She
had both the horses."

Langham and MacWilliams started forward to Clay's side, but the instant
they left the shadow of the rock, the bullets threw up the sand at
their feet and they stopped irresolutely. The moon showed the three
men outlined against the white sand of the beach as clearly as though a
searchlight had been turned upon them, even while its shadows sheltered
and protected their assailants. At their backs the open sea cut off
retreat, and the line of fire in front held them in check. They were
as helpless as chessmen upon a board.

"I'm not going to stand still to be shot at," cried MacWilliams.
"Let's hide or let's run. This isn't doing anybody any good." But no
one moved. They could hear the singing of the bullets as they passed
them whining in the air like a banjo-string that is being tightened,
and they knew they were in equal danger from those who were firing from
the boat.

"They're shooting better," said MacWilliams. "They'll reach us in a
minute."

"They've reached me already, I think," Langham answered, with
suppressed satisfaction, "in the shoulder. It's nothing." His
unconcern was quite sincere; to a young man who had galloped through
two long halves of a football match on a strained tendon, a scratched
shoulder was not important, except as an unsought honor.

But it was of the most importance to MacWilliams. He raised his voice
against the men in the woods in impotent fury. "Come out, you cowards,
where we can see you," he cried. "Come out where I can shoot your
black heads off."

Clay had fired the last cartridge in his rifle, and throwing it away
drew his revolver.

"We must either swim or hide," he said. "Put your heads down and run."

But as he spoke, they saw the carriage plunging out of the shadow of
the woods and the horses galloping toward them down the beach.
MacWilliams gave a cheer of welcome. "Hurrah!" he shouted, "it's Jose'
coming for us. He's a good man. Well done, Jose'!" he called.

"That's not Jose'," Langham cried, doubtfully, peering through the
moonlight. "Good God! It's Hope," he exclaimed. He waved his hands
frantically above his hea