He turned away so that they could no longer see his face, with the mental anguish that he knew must be writ large upon it, and commenced firing toward the natives once more.

Anthony Harding stood with white face and clinched hands during Byrne’s recital of his identity.  At its close he took a threatening step toward the prostrate man, raising his long sword, with a muffled oath.  Billy Mallory sprang before him, catching his upraised arm.

“Don’t!” he whispered.  “Think what we owe him now.  Come!” and the two men turned north into the jungle while Billy Byrne lay upon his belly in the tall grass firing from time to time into the direction from which came an occasional spear.

Anthony Harding and Billy Mallory kept on in silence along their dismal way.  The crack of the mucker’s revolver, growing fainter and fainter, as they drew away from the scene of conflict, apprised the men that their rescuer still lived.

After a time the distant reports ceased.  The two walked on in silence for a few minutes.

“He’s gone,” whispered Mallory.

Anthony Harding made no response.  They did not hear any further firing behind them.  On and on they trudged.  Night turned to day.  Day rolled slowly on into night once more.  And still they staggered on, footsore and weary.  Mallory suffered excruciating agony from his wound.  There were times when it seemed that it would be impossible for him to continue another yard; but then the thought that Barbara Harding was somewhere ahead of them, and that in a short time now they must be with her once more kept him doggedly at his painful task.

They had reached the river and were following slowly down its bank.  The moon, full and gorgeous, flooded the landscape with silvery light.

“Look!” exclaimed Mallory.  “The island!”

“Thank God!” whispered Harding, fervently.

On the bank opposite they stopped and hallooed.  Almost instantly three figures rushed from the interior of the island to the shore before them—­two men and a woman.

“Barbara!” cried Anthony Harding.  “O my daughter!  My daughter!”

Norris and Foster hastened through the river and brought the two men to the island.  Barbara Harding threw herself into her father’s arms.  A moment later she had grasped Mallory’s outstretched hands, and then she looked beyond them for another.

“Mr. Byrne?” she asked.  “Where is Mr. Byrne?”

“He is dead,” said Anthony Harding.

The girl looked, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, at her father for a full minute.

“Dead!” she moaned, and fell unconscious at his feet.

CHAPTER XVII

HOME AGAIN

Billy Byrne continued to fire intermittently for half an hour after the two men had left him.  Then he fired several shots in quick succession, and dragging himself to his hands and knees crawled laboriously and painfully back into the jungle in search of a hiding place where he might die in peace.