But Martin only shakes his head; he has no strength left.
"For Heaven's sake, try!"
No, he cannot do it. But Alec, though almost in despair, for every second he expects to feel the hands of the bushrangers upon him, will not give in. He pushes Crosby to the horse. "Stand still there. Whoa there, Amber!" and placing one bare heavy foot of the fainting man in the stirrup, he stoops, and half lifts, half pushes Martin into the saddle. Then, springing up behind, he holds him up with one rigid arm—he seems to have the strength of ten to-night—and grasps the reins with the other.
"Now, Yesslett—quick!" he says, and puts his horse in motion.
As he starts a figure wildly crashes through the bushes, and, grasping Yesslett's bridle, Kearney, in a triumphant voice, yells out—
"Not so fast, my master."
That very moment Starlight, who, with the mounted men of the gang, had followed them at a break-neck pace from the house, dashes on to the open ground, and dimly catching sight of something moving at the edge of the bush, draws his fatal pistol from his belt and fires.
A blinding blaze, a crash, one wild shriek of agony, and Yesslett feels his bridle free; for Kearney falls by the hand of his own leader.