must fix up Stingaree. Pot him as he comes in; it's our only chance."
Fullarton unwound the bandages from his wounded hand, stretched his fingers, and gripped and cocked Howie's revolver. His dark eyes danced.
"I mean to do so," said he. "Irralie, keep out of the way—turn your head and shut your ears!"
The girl obeyed— trembling as she had not trembled all the night. It was the worst of all, this waiting. Fullarton stood at one side of the door with the revolver. Howie had never moved.
Then the horse's hoofs and a man's feet were heard approaching through the sand, preceded by a whistle, high and clear and wonderfully sweet. He was whistling Mendelssohn again! Suddenly, as if a yard from the door, it broke off; the man's walk became a run; he was in the hut, with swinging eye-glass and whiskers flying, and had shouted, "Quick! they are on us!" before Fullarton cut him short.
