Rousing himself from a growing lassitude, and with a strange giddiness in his head, Jack attempted to follow his example. Panting heavily in short, quick sobs, with gritted teeth, he vainly strove to rise, but with a fog creeping over his brain he had to sink back again, and it was only by sheer will-power that he saved himself from fainting. Again Hawksley advanced upon him, deeming this the right moment to finish matters; but before he could reach him, Loyola, with a wild scream for help, rushed forward and flung herself with all her strength upon her husband's back, and clung there desperately, twining her arms round his neck in a heroic attempt to hold him off his prostrate enemy. With a snarl of fury Hawksley tore off her grip and cast her from him, and with a moan of despair she fell on her face in the sand. The sound drew a groan of helpless anguish from the rover, who again tried vainly to regain his feet. The next moment the ruffian was upon him and locked two sinewy hands round his throat. With a muffled gurgle Jack fell back, and, kneeling upon his prostrate body, Hawksley proceeded grimly to choke the life out of him. Again the woman, a wild terror in her eyes, flung herself upon the demon and attempted vainly to pull him off her lover, sending forth scream after scream for help. Jack, with a terrible knowledge of his absolute impotence, felt his senses leaving him as those horrible, muscular claws sank deeper and deeper into his neck and shut off his windpipe. His face became suffused, the veins swelling in his temples to bursting point, and the purple tint of suffocation began to creep over his features. Paying no heed to the hysterical attempts of the weak woman, Hawksley held on, chuckling to himself with satisfaction as he watched his victim weakening. Seeing that her endeavours were absolutely without avail, the distracted woman rushed off for the stiletto, which she had dropped in the sand when surprised by Jack's wild rush past her. At the same moment, the castaways, headed by Broncho, burst through the clump of palms in a headlong charge, drawn to the rescue by Loyola's screams. The cowboy, on perceiving the two struggling forms on the beach, without a second's hesitation stopped in his stride, and drawing his revolver, let go with unerring aim; much practice in a land where one's life depended on the quickness of one's draw and the sureness of one's aim had made him an expert in revolver-play. The bullet pierced through the fleshy part of Hawksley's left arm, and with a cry of rage he let go of his victim's throat and sprang to his feet, facing round with his venomous snarl like a wild beast at bay. "Hands up!" roared the cowpuncher, covering him with his weapon. "Hands up!"