But he never finished the sentence, for at that very moment two or three shots rang out on the still night.  They came from the neighbourhood of the town.

“Summat’s up,” exclaimed Rory.  “Let’s investigate.”

The three men seized their rifles and ran up the ridge that overlooked the bend of the trail They peered into the grey moonlit night in the direction of the township.

At first they could see nothing, but a desultory shot or two rang out, and it seemed to them that they were nearer than before.  At last, round a bend in the trail, they caught sight of a dark figure running towards them.

“It must be one of the Police or Pasmore,” said the rancher.

At last they saw this man’s pursuers.  There were only three of them, and one stopped at the turn, the other two keeping on.  Now and again one of them would stop, kneel on the snow, and take aim at the flying figure.  But moonlight is terribly deceptive, and invariably makes one fire high; moreover, when one’s nerves are on the jump, shooting is largely chance work.

“’Pears to me,” remarked Rory, “thet this ’ere ain’t what you’d ’xactly call a square game.  Thet joker in the lead is gettin’ well nigh played out, an’ them two coves a-follerin’ are gettin’ the bulge on ‘im.  Shure an’ I’m thinkin’ they’re friends av yourn, Lagrange, but they wants stoppin’.  What d’ye say?”

“Oui, oui—­oh, yiss, stob ’em!  If they see me ze—­what you call it—­ze game is oop.  Yiss, they friends—­shoot ’em mooch dead.”

The tender-hearted Lagrange was a very Napoleon in the advocating of extreme measures when the inviolability of his own skin was concerned.

“It’s a bloodthirsty baste ye are wid yer own kith an’ kin,” exclaimed Rory, disgustedly; “but I’m thinkin’ the less shootin’ the better unless we wants to hev the whole pack after us.  No, we’ll juist let thet joker in the lead git past, an’ then well pounce on thim two Johnnies before they can draw a bead, an’ take ’em prisoners.”

No sooner said than done.  They ran down the shoulder of the ridge, and, just where the trail rounded it, hid themselves in the shadow of a great pine.  In a few minutes more a huge figure came puffing and blowing round the bend.  They could see he had no rifle.  The moonlight was shining full on his face, and they recognised Jacques.  He did not see them, so they allowed him to pass on.  In another minute his two pursuers also rounded the bend.  One of them was just in the act of stopping to fire when Douglas and Rory rushed out.

“Hands up!” they shouted.

One of them let his rifle drop, and jerked his hands into the air at the first sound of the strange voices.  But the other hesitated and wheeled, at the same moment bringing his rifle to his shoulder.

But Douglas and Rory had sprung on him simultaneously.  His rifle was struck to one side, and he received a rap on the head that caused him to sit down on the snow feeling sick and dizzy, and wondering vaguely what had happened.