en he climbed into Sassoon's saddle, was losing sight and
consciousness. He knew he could no longer defend himself, and was so
faint that only the determination of putting distance between him and
any pursuers held him to the horse after he spurred away. With the
instinct of the hunted, he fumbled with his right hand for his means
of defense, and was relieved to find his revolver, after his panicky
dash for safety, safe in its place. He put his hand to his belt for
fresh cartridges. The belt was gone.

The discovery sent a shock through his failing faculties. He could not
recollect why he had no belt. Believing his senses tricked him, he
felt again and again for it before he would believe it was not buckled
somewhere about him. But it was gone, and he stuck back in his
waistband his useless revolver. One hope remained--flight, and he
spurred his horse cruelly.

Blood running continually into his eyes from the wound in his head
made him think his eyes were gone, and direction was a thing quite
beyond his power to compass. He made little effort to guide, and his
infuriated horse flew along as if winged.

A warm, sticky feeling in his right boot warned him, when he tried to
make some mental inventory of his condition, of at least one other
wound. But he found he could inventory nothing, recollect next to
nothing, and all that he wanted to do was to escape. More than once he
tried to look behind, and he dashed his hand across his red forehead.
He could not see twenty feet ahead or behind. Even when he hurriedly
wiped the cloud from his eyes his vision seemed to have failed, and he
could only cling to his horse to put the miles as fast as possible
between himself and more of the Morgans.

A perceptible weakness presently forced him to realize he must look to
his wounded foot. This he did without slackening speed. The sight of
it and the feeling inside his torn and blood-soaked boot was not
reassuring, but he rode on, sparing neither his horse nor his
exhaustion. It was only when spells of dizziness, recurring with
frequency, warned him he could not keep the saddle much longer, that
he attempted to dismount to stanch the drip of blood from his
stirrup.

Before he slackened speed he tried to look behind to reconnoitre.
With relief he perceived his sight to be a trifle better, and in
scanning the horizon he could discover no pursuers. Choosing a
secluded spot, he dismounted, cut open his boot, and found that a
bullet, pa