low that laid hold of my horse? So like Clancy! I
could swear 'twas he, if I wasn't sure of having settled him. If ever
gun-bullet gave a man his quietus, mine did him. The breath was out of
his body before I left him.

"Sime Woodley's after me, sure! Damn the ugly brute of a backwoodsman!
He seems to have been created for the special purpose of pursuing me?

"And she in my power, to let her so slackly go again! I may never have
another such chance. She'll get safe back to the settlements, there to
make mock of me! What a simpleton I've been to let her go alive! I
should have driven my knife into her. Why didn't I do it? Ach!"

As he utters the harsh exclamation there is blackness on his brow, and
chagrin in his glance; a look, such as Satan may have cast back at
Paradise on being expelled from it.

With assumed resignation, he continues:--

"No good my grieving over it now. Regrets won't get her back. There
may be another opportunity yet. If I live there shall be, though it
cost me all my life to bring it about."

Another pause spent reflecting what he ought to do next. He has still
some fear of being followed by Sime Woodley. Endeavouring to dismiss
it, he mutters:--

"'Tisn't at all likely they'd find the way up here. They appeared to be
afoot. I saw no horses. They might have them for all that. But they
can't tell which way I took through the timber, and anyhow couldn't
track me till after daylight. Before then Borlasse will certainly be
along. Just possible he may come across Woodley and his lot. They'll
be sure to make for the Mission, and take the road up t'other side. A
good chance of our fellows encountering them, unless that begging fool,
Bosley, has let all out. Maybe they killed him on the spot? I didn't
hear the end of it, and hope they have."

With this barbarous reflection he discontinues his soliloquy, bethinking
himself, how he may best pass the time till his comrades come on. At
first he designs alighting, and lying down: for he has been many hours
in the saddle, and feels fatigued. But just as he is about to dismount,
it occurs to him the place is not a proper one. Around the summit of
the pass, the plain is without a stick of timber, not even a bush to
give shade or concealment, and of this last he now begins to recognise
the need. For, all at once, he recalls a conversation with Borlasse, in
which mention was made of Sime Woodley; the robber telling of his havin