arson's.
God speed you."

They watched him ride away almost south, skirting the ridges of the
mountain as long as he could; then they saw him scrambling up a lofty
wooded ridge, and there he disappeared.

They raised poor Charles Hawker up, and Sam, mounting Dick's horse,
took the wounded man up before him, and started to go slowly home.
After a time, he said, "Do you feel worse, Charles?" and the other
replied, "No; but I am very cold." After that he stayed quite still,
with his arm round Sam Buckley's neck, until they reached the
Brentwoods' door.

Some came out to the door to meet them, and, among others, Alice. "Take
him from me," said Sam to one of the men. "Be very gentle: he is
asleep." And so they took the dead man's arm from off the living man's
shoulder, and carried him in; for Charles Hawker was asleep indeed--in
the sleep that knows no waking.

* * * * *

That was one of the fiercest and firmest stands that was ever made by
bushrangers against the authorities. Of the latter five were shot down,
three wounded, and the rest captured, save two. The gang was destroyed
at once, and life and property once more secure, though at a sad
sacrifice.

One trooper was shot dead at the first onset,--a fine young fellow,
just picked from his regiment for good conduct to join the police.
Another was desperately wounded, who died the next day. On the part of
the independent men assisting, there were Charles Hawker killed, Doctor
Mulhaus shot in the left arm, and Jim with his leg broke; so that, on
that evening, Captain Brentwood's house was like a hospital.

Captain Brentwood set his son's leg, under Dr. Mulhaus' directions, the
Doctor keeping mighty brave, though once or twice his face twisted with
pain, and he was nearly fainting. Alice was everywhere, pale and calm,
helping every one who needed it, and saying nothing. Eleanor, the cook,
pervaded the house, doing the work of seven women, and having the
sympathies of fourteen. She told them that this was as bad a job as
she'd ever seen; worse, in fact. That the nearest thing she'd ever seen
to it was when Mat Steeman's mob were broke up by the squatters; "But
then," she added, "there were none but prisoners killed."

But when Alice had done all she could, and the house was quiet, she
went up to her father, and said,--

"Now, father, comes the worst part of the matter for me. Who is to tell
Mrs. Hawker?"

"Mrs. Buckley, my dear, would be the best person. Bu