There was nothing more to be done. We couldn’t stay any longer looking at the dead men; it was no use burying them, even if we’d had the time. We hadn’t done it, though we should be sure to be mixed up with it somehow.

“We must be moving, lads,” said Starlight. “As soon as this gets wind there’ll be another rush out this way, and every policeman and newspaper reporter in the country will be up at Black Gully. When they’re found everybody will see that they’ve been killed for vengeance and not for plunder. But the sooner they’re found the better.”

“Best send word to Billy the Boy,” I said; “he’ll manage to lay them on without hurting himself.”

“All right. Warrigal knows a way of communicating with him; I’ll send him off at once. And now the sooner we’re at the Hollow the better for everybody.”

We rode all night. Anything was better than stopping still with such thoughts as we were likely to have for companions. About day light we got to the Hollow. Not far from the cave we found father’s old mare with the saddle on and the reins trailing on the ground. There was a lot of blood on the saddle, too, and the reins were smeared all about with it; red they were to the buckles, so was her mane.

We knew then something was wrong, and that the old man was hard hit, or he’d never have let her go loose like that. When we got to the cave the dog came out to meet us, and then walked back whining in a queer way towards the log at the mouth, where we used to sit in the evenings.

There was father, sure enough, lying on his face in a pool of blood, and to all appearances as dead as the men we’d just left. We lifted him up, and Starlight looked close and careful at him by the light of the dawn, that was just showing up over the tree tops to the east.

“He’s not dead; I can feel his heart beat,” he said. “Carry him in, boys, and we’ll soon see what’s the matter with him.”

We took his waistcoat and shirt off—a coat he never wore unless it was raining. Hard work we had to do it, they was so stuck to his skin when the blood had dried.

“By gum! he’s been hit bad enough,” says Jim. “Look here, and here, poor old dad!”

“There’s not much ‘poor’ about it, Jim,” says Starlight. “Men that play at bowls must expect to get rubbers. They’ve come off second best in this row, and I wish it had been different, for several reasons.”