ounded
off like a bird. The fugitive had a good two minutes start of us; but
our horses were fresh, while his had probably been ridden all day. I
patted my pony's neck; she responded with a ringing neigh of joy. We
tore after the outlaw, all three of us abreast. I felt a sort of fierce
delight in the reaction after the fighting. Our ponies galloped wildly
over the plain; we burst out into the night, never heeding the Matabele
whom we passed on the open in panic-stricken retreat. I noticed that
many of them in their terror had even flung away their shields and their
assegais.

It was a mad chase across the dark veldt--we three, neck to neck,
against that one desperate runaway. We rode all we knew. I dug my heels
into my sorrel's flanks, and she responded bravely. The tables were
turned now on our traitor since the afternoon of the massacre. HE was
the pursued, and WE were the pursuers. We felt we must run him down, and
punish him for his treachery.

At a breakneck pace, we stumbled over low bushes; we grazed big
boulders; we rolled down the sides of steep ravines; but we kept him
in sight all the time, dim and black against the starry sky; slowly,
slowly--yes, yes!--we gained upon him. My pony led now. The mysterious
white man rode and rode--head bent, neck forward--but never looked
behind him. Bit by bit we lessened the distance between us. As we drew
near him at last, Doolittle called out to me, in a warning voice: "Take
care, Doctor! Have your revolvers ready! He's driven to bay now! As we
approach, he'll fire at us!"

Then it came home to me in a flash. I felt the truth of it. "He DARE not
fire!" I cried. "He dare not turn towards us. He cannot show his face!
If he did, we might recognise him!"

On we rode, still gaining. "Now, now," I cried, "we shall catch him!"

Even as I leaned forward to seize his rein, the fugitive, without
checking his horse, without turning his head, drew his revolver from
his belt, and, raising his hand, fired behind him at random. He fired
towards us, on the chance. The bullet whizzed past my ear, not hitting
anyone. We scattered, right and left, still galloping free and strong.
We did not return his fire, as I had told the others of my desire to
take him alive. We might have shot his horse; but the risk of hitting
the rider, coupled with the confidence we felt of eventually hunting him
to earth, restrained us. It was the great mistake we made.

He had gained a little by his shots, b