CHAPTER XXXVII. HOW THE WHITE COMPANY CAME TO BE DISBANDED.

acetothecliff,hisfingersclutching,hisfeetscrapingandfeelingforasupport.Everyveinandcrackandmottlingofthatfaceofrockremainedforeverstampeduponhismemory.Atlast,however,hisfootcameuponabroadresting-placeandheventuredtocastaglancedownwards.ThankGod!hehadreachedthehighestofthosefatalpinnaclesuponwhichhiscomradehadfallen.Quicklynowhesprangfromrocktorockuntilhisfeetwereontheground,andhehadhishandstretchedoutforthehorse'srein,whenasling-stonestruckhimonthehead,andhedroppedsenselessupontheground. AnevilblowitwasforAlleyne,butaworseonestillforhimwhostruckit.TheSpanishslinger,seeingtheyouthlieslain,andjudgingfromhisdressthathewasnocommonman,rushedforwardtoplunderhim,knowingwellthatthebowmenabovehimhadexpendedtheirlastshaft.Hewasstillthreepaces,however,fromhisvictim'ssidewhenJohnuponthecliffabovepluckedupahugeboulder,and,poisingitforaninstant,droppeditwithfatalaimupontheslingerbeneathhim.Itstruckuponhisshoulder,andhurledhim,crushedandscreaming,totheground,whileAlleyne,recalledtohissensesbytheseshrillcriesinhisveryear,staggeredontohisfeet,andgazedwildlyabouthim.Hiseyesfelluponthehorses,grazinguponthescantypasture,andinaninstantallhadcomebacktohim—hismission,hiscomrades,theneedforhaste.Hewasdizzy,sick,faint,buthemustnotdie,andhemustnottarry,forhislifemeantmanylivesthatday.Inaninstanthewasinhissaddleandspurringdownthevalley.Loudrangtheswiftcharger'shoofsoverrockandreef,whilethefireflewfromthestrokeofiron,andtheloosestonesshoweredupbehindhim.Buthisheadwaswhirlinground,thebloodwasgushingfromhisbrow,histemple,hismouth.Everkeenerandsharperwasthedeadlypainwhichshotlikeared-hotarrowthroughhisside.Hefeltthathiseyewasglazing,hissensesslippingfromhim,hisgraspuponthereinsrelaxing.Thenwithonemightyeffort,hecalledupallhisstrengthforasingleminute.Stoopingdown,heloosenedthestirrup-straps,boundhiskneestightlytohissaddle-flaps,twistedhishandsinthebridle,andthen,puttingthegallanthorse'sheadforthemountainpath,hedashedthespursinandfellforwardfaintingwithhisfaceburiedinthecoarse,blackmane. Littlecouldheeverrememberofthatwildride.Halfconscious,buteverwiththeonethoughtbeatinginhismind,hegoadedthehorseonwards,rushingswiftlydownsteepravinesoverhugeboulders,alongtheedgesofblackabysses.Dimmemorieshehadofbeetlingcliffs,ofagroupofhutswithwonderingfacesatthedoors,offoaming,clatteringwater,andofabristleofmountainbeeches.Once,erehehadriddenfar,heheardbehindhimthreedeep,sullenshouts,whichtoldhimthathiscomradeshadsettheirfacestothefoeoncemore.Thenallwasblank,untilhewoketofindkindlyblueEnglisheyespeeringdownuponhimandtoheartheblessedsoundofhiscountry'sspeech.Theywerebutaforagingparty—ahundredarchersandasmanymen-at-arms—buttheirleaderwasSirHughCalverley,andhewasnotamantobideidlewhengoodblowsweretobehadnotthreeleaguesfromhim.Ascoutwassentflyingwithamessagetothecamp,andSirHugh,withhistwohundredmen,thunderedofftotherescue.WiththemwentAlleyne,stillboundtohissaddle,stilldrippingwithblood,andswooningandrecovering,andswooningonceagain.Ontheyrode,andon,until,atlast,toppingaridge,theylookeddownuponthefatefulvalley.Alas!andalas!forthesightthatmettheireyes. There,beneaththem,wastheblood-bathedhill,andfromthehig