have spoken to me again if I had refused."

"She? Ah, yes; I see. Good! She did not forget me!" cried Truxton, his
heart bounding.

"My own happiness depends on my luck in getting you to safety," rasped
the Count. "My life's happiness. Understand, damn you, it is not for you
that I risk my life."

"I understand," murmured Truxton, a wry smile on his pale lips. "You
mean, she is going to pay you in some way for picking me up, eh? Well,
I'll put an end to that. I'll drop off again. Then you can ride on and
tell her--I wouldn't be a party to the game. Do you catch my meaning?"

"You would, eh?" said the Count angrily. "I'd like to see you drop off
while we're going at this--"

"I've got my pistol in the middle of your back," grated Truxton. "Slow
up a bit or I'll scatter your vertebrae all over your system. Pull up!"

"As you like," cried Vos Engo. "I've done my part. Colonel Quinnox will
bear witness." He began pulling his horse down. "Now, you are quite free
to drop off."

Without a word the American swung his leg over and slid to the ground.
"Thanks for the lift you've given me," he called up to the astonished
officer.

"Don't thank me," sang out his would-be saviour as he put spur to his
horse.

It is a lamentable thing to say, but Truxton King's extraordinary
sacrifice was not altogether the outgrowth of heroism. We have not been
called upon at any time to question his courage; we have, on the other
hand, seen times when he displayed the most arrant foolhardiness. I defy
any one to prove, however, that he ever neglected an opportunity to
better himself by strategy at the expense of fortitude. Therefore, it is
not surprising that even at such a time as this we may be called upon to
record an example of his spectacular cunning.

Be sure of it, he did not decide to slide from Vos Engo's horse until he
saw a way clear to better his position, and at the same time to lessen
the glory of his unpleasant rescuer.

Less than a hundred yards behind loped a riderless horse; the dragoon
who had sat the saddle was lying far back in the avenue, a bullet in his
head. Hobbling to the middle of the road, the American threw up his
hands and shouted briskly to the bewildered animal. Throwing his ears
forward in considerable doubt, the horse came to a standstill close at
hand. Five seconds later King was in the saddle and tearing along in the
wake of the retreating guard, his hair blowing from his forehead, his
blood leaping