"He's winged me," he said, and applied to Mr. Bryce an epithet not
usually heard in polite society.

His mate fired at the tree from which the shot had evidently come, but
the bullet did nothing more than flatten itself against the trunk in a
shower of dust and dry bark. Mr. Bryce's revolver spoke once again. This
time he failed to register.

"The sooner we get out of this the better," said Alick, with one hand
clasped to his injured shoulder. "The beggar'll riddle us both if we
stop here."

The other man grunted his approval of the suggestion and proceeded to
carry it into effect at once.

"Better look where you are going," Alick advised. "That other chap's
about somewhere, perhaps waiting for us."

The other consigned both Bryce and his assistant to a place more noted
for its warmth than its comfort. Despite their forebodings Mr. Cumshaw
did not put in an appearance, and they gained the shelter of the thick
timber in safety.

Once he was sure that they had really departed Mr. Bryce stepped out
from behind his tree, first, however, with commendable caution reloading
the heavy revolver he carried. The smile was still flickering about the
corners of his mouth, but there was a little wrinkle of anxiety across
his forehead.

"I wonder where the devil Cumshaw's gone?" he remarked to the
unresponsive trees. "He went off like a scared rabbit. I'd better hunt
for him. I can't get on without him now."

With the laudable intention of finding Mr. Cumshaw as soon as possible
he began to scour the neighbourhood.

When Mr. Cumshaw disappeared so precipitately it was with the idea that
he must maintain his freedom at any cost. True, Bryce might be captured,
but by the same token he could be rescued just as easily. Though his
intentions were right enough he was prevented in the simplest manner
possible from carrying them into effect. He went crashing through the
bushes as has already been related, and found himself on the edge of
what was nothing more or less than a blind creek. The sides were covered
with matted brushwood and were as slippery as glass. His momentum was
such that he could not stop himself in time, and he went head over heels
down the side of the gully, and spun on to the boulder-covered bottom
like some new and monstrous kind of Catherine wheel. He collided with
the rounded surface of one of the big weather-worn rocks which lay
strewn about the gully floor like the tremendous marbles of a giant.

The