arette. "You know him, Jock?"

"I know him," he answered, and drove the donkeys on, thwacking the
pack-ass cautiously for the sake of the load.

It was an anxious passage then, on the open beach. The men who
followed had the cover of the shrubs; theirs was the advantage to
choose the moment of collision. They could shoot at him from their
concealment and flick his brains out comfortably before he could set
eyes on them; or they could shoot the donkeys down, or put a bullet
into Incarnacion where she rode, quiet and regardless of all. He
flogged the beasts on to a trot with a hail of blows, and ran up into
the bush to take an observation.

His foot was barely off the sand of the beach when a shot sounded, and
the wind of the bullet made his eyes smart. Invention was automatic in
his mind. At the noise, he fell forthwith on his face, crashing across
a bush, so that his head was up and his pistol in reach of his hand.
Thus he lay, not moving, but searching through half-closed eyes the
maze of green before him. He heard the rustle of grass, and prepared
for action, every nerve taut; and there came into sight the big
Italian, smiling broadly, a Winchester in his hand.

In Scott's brain some nucleus of motion gave the signal. With a single
movement, his knee crooked under him and he swung the heavy revolver
forward. A howl answered the shot, and he saw the Italian blunder
against a palm, drop his rifle, and scamper out of sight. Firing
again, Scott dashed forward and picked up the Winchester, while from
in front of him the Italian or his companion sent bullet after bullet
about his ears. It was enough of a victory to carry on with, for
Incarnacion would have heard the shots and might come back to him; so
he turned and ran again, and caught her just as she was dismounting.

It was a race now. He silenced the girl's questions sharply, and
thumped the donkeys to a canter, running doggedly behind them with his
stick busy. In the bush, too, there was the noise of hurry; he heard
the crash of feet running, and twice they shot at him. Then
Incarnacion gasped, and held up her cloak to show him a hole through
it; but she was not touched. He swore, but did not cease to flog and
run. The strain told on him; his legs were water, and the sweat stood
on his face in great gouts; and, to embitter the labor, suddenly there
was a shout from ahead. The men had passed him, and he saw the Italian
show himself with a gesture of derision, and