he realized that his chance was of a
desperate smallness. If only he could gain a dozen seconds in which to
string his bow and fit an arrow.

But he could not make or save those longed-for moments; already he had
lost a good part of his original advantage, and the horseman was barely
sixty yards behind. His head felt as though it were about to split in
two; a cloud, shot with crimson stars, swam before his eyes.

The track swung suddenly to the right, in a sharp curve, and Constans's
heart bounded wildly; he had forgotten how close he must be to the
crossing of the Swiftwater. Now the rotting and worm-eaten timbers of
the open trestle-work were under his feet; mechanically, he avoided the
numerous gaps, where a misstep meant destruction, and so at last gained
the farther bank and sank down panting on the short, crisp sward.

The cavalier reined in at the beginning of the trestle; he looked
doubtfully at the ford above the bridge; but the Swiftwater was in
spring flood, and, was the chase worth a wetting?

Evidently not, for, with a shrug of his shoulders, the horseman threw
one leg across the saddle-pommel and sat there, very much at his ease,
while he proceeded to roll himself a cigarette from coarse, black
tobacco and a leaf of dampened corn-husk.

Constans felt his face flush hotly as he noted the contempt implied in
his enemy's well-played indifference. Already he had put his bow in
order; now he stood up and, with some ostentation, proceeded to fit an
arrow to the string. The cavalier looked at these preparations with
entire calmness and busied himself again with his flint and steel.

"It would be murder," muttered Constans, irritably, and lowered his
hand. Then, moved by sudden impulse, he took aim anew and with more than
ordinary care. The arrow sung through the air and transfixed the fleshy
part of the cavalier's bridle-arm. The horse, whose withers had been
grazed by the shaft, started to rear, but his rider neither moved nor
changed color. Quieting the frightened animal with a reassuring word,
he deftly caught the tinder spark at the tip of his cigarette and drew
in a deep inhalation of the smoke. Then, with the utmost coolness, he
proceeded to snap the arrow-shaft in twain and draw out the barb,
Constans yielding him grudging admiration, for it was all very perfectly
done.

"Here is a man," thought Constans, and looked him over carefully.

And truly the cavalier made a gallant figure, dressed as he wa