in the howling wind and looked about him into the
wild night.

'I've had a nasty knock on the head, and I suppose they look to the
night mail to finish the business. Make haste, John! where's your horse?
Treachery's afoot to-night. I've lost my despatches--they robbed me of
them! But I'll beat them all yet! Give me your flask. How far is it to
Revonde?'

The troopers had dispersed, some to warn the coming train, others to
arrange for the removal of the carriage from the track.

Counsellor had his foot in the stirrup, and with difficulty Rallywood
got him up into the saddle.

'Thirty miles, but you cannot ride there to-night,' answered Rallywood.

'With your help I'll beat them yet, John! Thirty miles? I'll be there
before daylight! I can go by the stars once I find the road.'

He stuck his heels into the horse's side, but Rallywood still held the
bridle.

A wild gust tore round them, and in the succeeding lull Rallywood laid
his hand on the other man's knee.

'Major Counsellor, you are my prisoner,' he said.

'How's this, John?' the question came thin, pitiful and weak. A new
doubt, the old affection, and a strange helplessness mingled in the
words, and they cut deep into Rallywood's ears.

'That was a bad knock on the head,' muttered the Major apologetically,
and sank forward on the horse's neck again unconscious.

CHAPTER XXV.

A QUESTION OF TWO MORALITIES.

The road towards the block-house ran along the river bank past the Kofn
Ford. They went slowly on together through the starry windy night,
Rallywood with his hand on the bridle and the wounded man holding limply
to the saddle.

The _tsa_ raved and rocked in the pine trees, through the pauses of the
storm a wolf barked, and the black, tumbled water was still swelling and
gulping under the low stars. But the tumult of noises only served to
accentuate the hideous loneliness which is the salient characteristic of
the Frontier.

Counsellor, with an unaccustomed warfare in his heart--rage and the pity
of it working together--stared into space across the leaping river.

As the two men drew near the ford, they saw the dim figure of a horseman
riding down the bank on the opposite side, with the evident intention of
crossing. The approaches to the ford were flooded, for the angry water
fretted out its banks at such times and deepened into dangerous swirls
over the crossing-place.

Rallywood checked the horse to shout and signal to the man that