serably or
flailed into the greedy hands and caps of the murderers, some half a
hundred innocent and lovely lives, all of them torn out in an agony of
fear without knowing why. Ishmael ran forward, not even hearing his own
voice as it shouted oaths he never knew he had used.

The men stopped at their work, caps and sticks in hand, staring
stupidly; only Archelaus, after a first moment's pause, showed no
astonishment. It was not till long afterwards that it occurred to
Ishmael to wonder whether his brother had all along known he followed,
and it was a question that was to remain for ever unanswered. Archelaus
lifted his lantern, which first gleamed on the red surprise of
John-Willy Jacka's face, then on the foolish mask of Silly Peter, the
local idiot, who stood slackly agape between a couple of miners. Then
Archelaus brought the light round, to fall on Ishmael's pale face ere
swinging it on to Killigrew.

"Lads, here's the young gentlemen from the Manor!" he cried--"come to
see a bit o' bush-beaten; let's show 'en, shall us?" And, still holding
his lantern so that its light fell on them, he deliberately let drive
with his great stick at a branch where a wounded bird was crushed upon a
sharp twig.

Ishmael sprang forward and laid hands on the stick, twisting at it with
all his strength. Archelaus gave for a flash under the sudden onslaught,
but, recovering himself at once, held the stick steady with one hand
against all the twisting of Ishmael's two. He laughed a little as he did
so. Silly Peter, under the impression that it was all part of the fun,
laughed too.

"You beast!... you beast!..." Ishmael was saying as he tussled.
Killigrew caught at his arm.

"Say something to them, Ishmael; say something to them. Don't go on like
that ..." he muttered urgently.

Ishmael turned on him a face distorted with passion. "Say
something--what is there to say to brutes like that? Ah!..."

Archelaus had thrown the lantern underfoot and trampled it out; a
darkness impenetrable to dazzled eyes enwrapped them. Killigrew, keeping
his head amidst the scuffing he heard, dived for where he had seen young
Jacka standing in guilty stillness, his dark lantern dangling from his
hand. Almost at once Killigrew felt his own fingers meet its smooth,
slightly hot surface; he wrenched it away and fumbled desperately at the
slide. A beam, pale but wavering, shot out into the darkness as he
succeeded in his effort, and by its light, as men in