"We must get off. Shout for Gillane. Your voice carries well."
Deering shouted and fixed his glance on the slope behind the group. After a few minutes, two or three indistinct objects loomed in the mist.
"The boys are coming," he said, and resumed in a puzzled voice: "Gillane went for Stevens and Dillon; but I see four."
"There are four," said Jimmy, and Deering's mouth got tight.
He thought the first man did not belong to Stannard's party, and now he saw two others behind the advancing group.
"The police!" said Stannard, and shrugged resignedly.
Jimmy turned. His face was pinched and his pose was slack, but his look was calm.
"You have played up nobly, but we're beaten and I've had enough. In fact, to know I'm beaten is rather a relief."
Deering nodded gloomily. There was no use in trying to get away; the Royal North-West are empowered to shoot, and, as a rule, shoot straight. He waited and noted mechanically that Stannard was a few yards nearer the top of the rocks. By and by a police sergeant stopped opposite the group.
"We have got you! Don't move until you get my orders," he said, and signing a trooper, indicated Gillane's party. "Hold that lot off!"