n, when a sling-stone struck him on the head, and he dropped
senseless upon the ground.

An evil blow it was for Alleyne, but a worse one still for him who
struck it. The Spanish slinger, seeing the youth lie slain, and judging
from his dress that he was no common man, rushed forward to plunder him,
knowing well that the bowmen above him had expended their last shaft.
He was still three paces, however, from his victim's side when John
upon the cliff above plucked up a huge boulder, and, poising it for
an instant, dropped it with fatal aim upon the slinger beneath him. It
struck upon his shoulder, and hurled him, crushed and screaming, to the
ground, while Alleyne, recalled to his senses by these shrill cries in
his very ear, staggered on to his feet, and gazed wildly about him. His
eyes fell upon the horses, grazing upon the scanty pasture, and in an
instant all had come back to him--his mission, his comrades, the need
for haste. He was dizzy, sick, faint, but he must not die, and he must
not tarry, for his life meant many lives that day. In an instant he
was in his saddle and spurring down the valley. Loud rang the swift
charger's hoofs over rock and reef, while the fire flew from the stroke
of iron, and the loose stones showered up behind him. But his head was
whirling round, the blood was gushing from his brow, his temple, his
mouth. Ever keener and sharper was the deadly pain which shot like a
red-hot arrow through his side. He felt that his eye was glazing, his
senses slipping from him, his grasp upon the reins relaxing. Then with
one mighty effort, he called up all his strength for a single minute.
Stooping down, he loosened the stirrup-straps, bound his knees tightly
to his saddle-flaps, twisted his hands in the bridle, and then, putting
the gallant horse's head for the mountain path, he dashed the spurs
in and fell forward fainting with his face buried in the coarse, black
mane.

Little could he ever remember of that wild ride. Half conscious, but
ever with the one thought beating in his mind, he goaded the horse
onwards, rushing swiftly down steep ravines over huge boulders, along
the edges of black abysses. Dim memories he had of beetling cliffs, of a
group of huts with wondering faces at the doors, of foaming, clattering
water, and of a bristle of mountain beeches. Once, ere he had ridden
far, he heard behind him three deep, sullen shouts, which told him that
his comrades had set their faces to the foe once