down ; the panting of dry throats ; and now and 

 then a sol) from that central figure. He was 

 fighting for his life. The Terror of the Border 

 was at bay. 



All who meant it were on him now. The 

 Venus had her hold at last ; and never but once 

 in a long life of battles had she let go ; Rasper, 

 his breath coming in dreadful rattles, clipped him 

 horribly by the loins ; while a dozen other devils 

 with hot eyes and wrinkled nostrils clung still. 



Long odds. And down he went, smothered 

 beneath the weight of numbers, yet struggled up 

 again ; his great head torn and dripping, eyes a 

 gleam of rolling red and white, the little tail stern 

 and stiff like the stump of a flagstaff shot away. 

 Pie was desperate but indomitable ; and he sobbed 

 as he fought doggedly on. 



Long odds : it could not last. And down he- 

 went at length, silent still — never a cry should 

 they wring from him in his agony : the Venus 

 glued to that mangled pad ; Rasper beneath him 

 now ; three at his throat ; two at his ears ; a 

 crowd on flanks and body. 



The Terror of the Border was overwhelmed at 

 last. 



"Wullie! ma Wullie ! " screamed M'Adam, 

 bounding down the slope a crook's length in front 

 of the rest. " Wullie ! Wullie ! to me ! " 



2 i 6 



