ghtened sheep without concert or any sensible effort to escape,
wasting in futile scrambles the short time remaining to them. For
another half hour had now passed, and in sixty minutes the earthquake
would take place.

"Follow us!" I shouted, as with my companions I rode slowly through the
camp. "Keep the track to the sea. I shall have the steamer's boats ready
for all who may reach the shore alive."

"The horses! Seize the horses!" rose in a loud shout, and the mob flung
themselves upon us, as though three animals could carry all.

When I saw the rush, I called out: "Sit firm, Natalie; I am going to
strike your horse." Saying which I struck the pony a sharp blow with my
riding-whip crossways on the flank. It bounded like a deer, and then
dashed forward down the rough pathway.

"Now you, Edith!" I struck her pony in the same way; but it only reared
and nearly threw her. It could not get away. Already hands were upon
both bridle-reins. There was no help for it. I pulled out my revolver
and fired once, twice, and thrice--for I missed the second shot--and
then the maddened animal sprang forward, released from the hands that
held it.

It was now time to look to myself. I was in the midst of a dozen maniacs
mad with fear. I kicked in my spurs desperately, and the bay lashed out
his hind feet. One hoof struck young Halley on the forehead. He fell
back dead, his skull in fragments. But the others refused to break the
circle. Then I emptied my weapon on them, and my horse plunged through
the opening, followed by despairing execrations. The moment I was clear,
I returned my revolver to its case, and settled myself in the saddle,
for, borne out of the proper path as I had been, there was a stiff bank
to leap before I could regain the track to the shore. Owing to the
darkness the horse refused to leap, and I nearly fell over his head.
With a little scrambling I managed to get back into my seat, and then
trotted along the bank for a hundred yards. At this point the bank
disappeared, and there was nothing between me now and the open track to
the sea.

Once upon the path, I put the bay to a gallop, and very soon overtook a
man and a woman hurrying on. They were running hand in hand, the man a
little in front dragging his companion on by force. It was plain to me
that the woman could not hold out much longer. The man, Claude Lureau,
hailed me as I passed.

"Help us, Marcel. Don't ride away from us."

"I cannot save both," I