“Very well, Jim, I have a friend who lives near it. She will find her out, and do all for her that can be done. But why don’t you—why don’t all of you contrive to get away somehow from this hateful life, and not bring ruin and destruction on the heads of all who love you? Say you will try for their sake—for my sake.”

“It’s too late, Miss Falkland,” I said. “We’re all thankful to you for the way you’ve spoken. Jim and I would be proud to shed our blood for you any time, or Mr. Falkland either. We’ll do what we can, but we’ll have to fight it out to the end now, and take our chance of the bullet coming before the rope. Good-night, Miss Falkland, and good luck to you always.”

She shooks hands heartily with me and Jim, but when she came to Starlight he raised her hand quite respectful like and just touched it with his lips. Then he bowed low to them all and walked slowly out.

When we got to the public-house, which wasn’t far off, we found that Moran and the other two had stayed there a bit till Wall and Hulbert came; then they had a drink all round and rode away. The publican said Moran was in an awful temper, and he was afraid he’d have shot somebody before the others got him started and clear of the place.

“It’s a mercy you went over, Captain,” says he; “there’d have been the devil to pay else. He swore he’d burn the place down before he went from here.”

“He’ll get caught one of these fine days,” says Starlight. “There’s more risk at one station than half-a-dozen road scrimmages, and that he’ll find, clever as he thinks himself.”

“Where’s Mr. Whitman, Jack?” said I to the landlord (he wasn’t a bad sort, old Jack Jones). “What made him leave his place to the mercy of the world, in a manner of speaking?”

“Well, it was this way. He heard that all the shepherds at the lower station had cut it to the diggings, ye see; so he thought he’d make a dart up to the Castlereagh and rig’late the place a bit. He’ll be back afore morning.”

“How d’ye know that?”

“Well, he’s ridin’ that famous roan pony o’ his, and he always comes back from the station in one day, though he takes two to go; eighty-five miles every yard of it. It’s a big day, but that pony’s a rum un, and can jump his own height easy. He’ll be welcome home to-night.”

“I daresay he will, and no wonder. The missus must ha’ been awful frightened, and the young ladies, too. Good-night, Jack”; and we rattled off.