“My man, and the boy Jim! Hurry! Those beggars behind are following fast.”
Dick Bracknell looked round. Against the red glare of the great camp fire half a score of dark figures showed plainly. They were running towards the fugitives. An exultant yell told the latter that they had been seen.
“For God’s sake, give me the rifle, and get the girls away, Roger, old man. I’m crocked, and can’t travel fast, but I can hold those devils back.”
“But—but——”
“Can’t you see this is my chance of doing the decent thing? For God’s sake don’t deny me, man!”
Roger Bracknell looked into his cousin’s haggard face, and understood. Silently he put his rifle into his cousin’s hand, and unbuckling his bandolier, threw it on him.
“Thanks, old man! Thanks, awfully!”
“I’ll send my man to back you, and when I’ve started the girls I’ll return myself.”
“No!” replied Dick Bracknell. “You go with them. You must! It’s necessary.” He lifted the rifle as he spoke and sighting at the foremost of the pursuers pulled the trigger.
“One!” he said exultantly, as one of the running shadows toppled into the snow. “The beggars aren’t thinking of the light behind them.... Go!” he said again. “Go with the girls and send your man. Let me play the hero for once.... Man!” he blazed suddenly, “can’t you see it is all that is left to me.”