ade ready to throw again. One of
the four lay still, and the warriors paid no heed to him; but under the
shelter of his blanket, ignoring the anguish of the two spear-wounds he
had, he was feeling for his revolver.

A streak of flame, the echo of the shot, and the death-shriek of one of
the black-fellows were almost simultaneous. To the wounded white men the
sound of the shot was a signal of hope; to the unwounded blacks it was a
terror and dismay, and without more than a glance at their comrade where
he lay, they turned and fled into the shadows of the bush.

"My God! they're burning out my entrails," one of the white men
groaned.

"Lie still, you fools; lie still. You're only doing harm by struggling,"
the man who had shot called out.

Another of the four had ceased to move, though three spears were stuck
in him. The man nearest to him managed to wriggle over and up on to his
hands and knees.

"Gleeson's dead," he cried.

"Hold on, Tap, you fool!" the first man said. "I've a spear through my
thigh and another in my left arm, but I'll have them out in a moment,
and then see what's wrong with you."

"Give me water--water," the man on the other side of the fire groaned.

Tap, least wounded of the four, took heart as he saw Barber wrest out
the spears that were sticking in his leg and arm and bind up the wounds.
But he shuddered when Barber came over to him and jerked out the spear
which had passed through the muscle under his shoulder.

"You're not hurt. What are you howling about?" Barber said roughly, and
passed over to Walker, who was just breathing. "Speared through the
stomach," he said in a whisper to Tap; "he'll be finished in two
minutes. What are you doing now, you fool?" he asked quickly, as Tap,
having neither the nerve nor the courage of his companion, reeled and
fell fainting to the ground.

Barber stood for a moment looking down at him, and then glanced at the
others. Walker no longer breathed, Gleeson had not moved, and the
black-fellow lay where he fell, on his back, with a red stain spreading
from a spot on his chest over the smudges and smears of the wet white
clay.

"It's saved me a lot of trouble," he remarked callously, as he went to
the fire and threw more wood on to it.

CHAPTER XVI.

TWO SIDES OF A STORY.

A scandal had come to Birralong; a scandal that ate its way into the
peace and contentment of the township; a scandal which introduced into
the simple existence of the