ounded man
who lay close to Miles, and the man was resisting him. The other put a
quick end to the strife by drawing a knife across the throat of the poor
fellow. A horror of great darkness seemed to overwhelm Miles as he saw
the blood gush in a deluge from the gaping wound. He tried to shout,
but, as in a nightmare, he could neither speak nor move.

As the murderer went on rifling his victim, Miles partially recovered
from his trance of horror, and anxiety for his own life nerved him to
attempt action of some sort. He thought of the revolver for the first
time at that moment, and the remembrance seemed to infuse new life into
him. Putting his right hand to his belt, he found it there, but drew it
with difficulty. Doubting his power to discharge it by means of the
trigger alone, he made a desperate effort and cocked it.

The click made the murderer start. He raised himself and looked round.
Our hero shut his eyes and lay perfectly still. Supposing probably that
he must have been mistaken, the man resumed his work. Miles could have
easily shot him where he kneeled if he had retained power to lift his
arm and take an aim. As it was, he had strength only to retain the
weapon in his grasp.

After a short time, that seemed an age to the helpless watcher, the
murderer rose and turned his attention to another dead man, but passing
him, came towards Miles, whose spirit turned for one moment to God in an
agonising prayer for help. The help came in the form of revived
courage. Calm, cool, firm self-possession seemed to overbear all other
feelings. He half closed his eyes as the murderer approached, and
gently turned the muzzle of the revolver upwards. He even let the man
bend over him and look close into his face to see if he were dead, then
he pulled the trigger.

Miles had aimed, he thought, at the man's breast, but the bullet entered
under his chin and went crashing into his brain. A gush of warm blood
spouted over Miles's face as the wretch plunged over him, head first,
and fell close by his side. He did not die at once. The nature of the
ground prevented Miles from seeing him, but he could hear him gradually
gasp his life away.

A few minutes later and footsteps were heard ascending the hillock.
Miles grasped his revolver with a hand that now trembled from increasing
weakness, but he was by that time unable to put the weapon on full cock.
Despair had well-nigh seized him, when a familiar voice was heard