little distance off, leading a
second horse. Closer at hand, another man was running hard beside one
of the Percherons, and while Grant watched him he made an effort to
scramble up on the back of the unsaddled animal, but slipped off. Both
these men were indistinct in the dim hollow, but on a sandy ridge
above, which still caught the fading light, there was a
sharply-outlined mounted figure sweeping across the broken ground at a
reckless gallop. It must be Lansing, who had come to the rescue.
Grant sent up a faint, hoarse cry of exultation. He forgot his pain
and dizziness, he even forgot he had been assaulted; he was conscious
only of a burning wish to see Lansing ride down the fellow who was
running beside the Percheron.

There was a patch of thick scrub not far ahead which it would be
difficult for the horseman on the rise to break through, and if the
fugitive could succeed in mounting, he might escape while his pursuer
rode round; but Lansing seemed to recognize this. He swept down from
the ridge furiously and rode to cut off the thief. Grant saw him come
up with the fellow, with his quirt swung high, but the figures of men
and horses were now indistinct against the shrub. There was a blow
struck; one of the animals reared, plunged and fell; the other went on
and vanished into the gloom of the dwarf trees.

Then Grant, without remembering how he got up, found himself upon his
feet and lurching unsteadily toward the clump of brush. When he
reached it, Lansing was standing beside his trembling horse, which had
a long red gash down its shoulder. His hands were stained and a big
discolored knife lay near his feet. There was nobody else about, but a
beat of hoofs came back, growing fainter, out of the gathering dusk.

George looked around when the farmer joined him, and then pointed to
the wound on the horse.

"I think it was meant for my leg," he said. "I hit the fellow once
with the thick end of the quirt, but he jumped straight at me. The
horse reared when he felt the knife and I came off before he fell.
When I got up again, the fellow had gone."

Grant felt scarcely capable of standing. He sat down heavily and
fumbled for his pipe, while George turned his attention to the horse
again.

"Though it's only in the muscle, the cut looks deep," he said at
length. "I'd better lead him back to your place; it's nearer than
mine."

"I'd rather you came along; I'm a bit shaky."

"Of course," said George