needed any second. He set a pace through the thickets which had her stumbling and gasping, afraid to be left behind.
More scattered shots, nearer! Armed white men were harrying a party of blacks—or possibly chasing Paxton Trenholm himself! For weeks the police
Sam saw a horrible thing. The limp figure held against Trenholm's chest was the unconscious body of Claire Smith!
had been closing in on the bushranger, at last nearing the moment when he would have to stand at bay. This might be the last battle!
With the breathless young woman stumbling after him, Sam kept on toward the spot from which the sounds had come. Then the sudden crackling of branches ahead caught his attention. Here was a sort of glade in the gidgie and beefwood, lighted by first gray of dawn and last wan moonlight. As Sam stopped, rifle loaded again and ready, large animals crashed through the scrub in his direction. Camels!
A hoarse shout burst from Sam's throat. These were not police or fence men! The first two riders were squat-bodied, brown men, naked above the waist. The third was a skinny, coal-black giant, a Kimberley blackfellow. Then came a huge white man, black spade bearded—
Paxton Trenholm had ridden to his reckoning!
They came fast, straight at him. Seeing this was to be close action, Sam dropped his rifle and yanked the revolver. At the same instant the foremost Malay screamed a warning,
