ling
with the noise of his own horse, confused him as to the number of
pursuers. He reasoned that he was well out of range, for there came no
report of firearms. The road presently described a semi-circle, passing
through a meager orchard. Once beyond this he turned again in the
saddle.

"Only one; that is not so bad as it might be. It is one to one." But a
second glance told him who this solitary pursuer was. "The devil!" he
laughed--as one of Tasso's heroes might have laughed!--"The devil! how
that man loves me!" He was confident that the white horse would never
overtake the black.

On they flew, pursued and pursuer. At length Maurice bit his lip and
frowned. The white horse was growing larger; the distance between was
lessening, slowly but certainly.

"Good boy!" he said encouragingly to the Mecklenberg. "Good boy!"

Deserted farm houses swept past; hills rose and vanished, but still the
white horse crept up, up, up. The distance ere another half mile had
gone had diminished to four hundred yards; from four hundred it fell to
three hundred, from three hundred to two hundred. The Mecklenburg was
doing glorious work, but the marvelous stride of the animal in the
rear was matchless. Suddenly Maurice saw a tuft of the red plume on his
helmet spring out ahead of him and sail away, and a second later came
the report. One, he counted; four more were to follow. Next a stream of
fire gassed along his cheek, and something warm trickled down the side
of his neck. Two, he counted, his face now pale and set. The third
knocked his scabbard into the air.

Quickly he shifted his saber to the left, dropped the reins and drew his
own revolver. He understood. He was not to be taken prisoner. Beauvais
intended to kill him offhand. Only the dead keep secrets. Maurice flung
about and fired three consecutive times. The white horse reared, and the
shako of his master fell into the dust, but there was no other result.
As Maurice pressed the trigger for the fourth time the revolver was
violently wrenched from his hand, and a thousand needles seemed to be
quivering in the flesh of his arm and hand.

"My God, what a shot!" he murmured. "I am lost!"

Simultaneous with the fifth and last shot came sensation somewhat like
that caused by a sound blow in the middle of the back. Strange, but
he felt no pain, neither was there an accompanying numbness. Then he
remembered his cuirass, which was of steel an eighth of an inch thick.
It had saved