he
horse behind sounds clearer and closer.

He is in doubt what to do. Every moment he may hear the report of a
gun, and have a bullet into his back. He knows not the instant he may
be shot out of his saddle.

Shall he turn upon the pursuer, make stand, and meet him face to face?
He dares not. The dread of the unearthly is still upon him. It may be
the Devil!

The silence, too, awes him. The pursuing horseman has not yet hailed--
has not spoken word, or uttered exclamation. Were it not for the heavy
tread of the hoof he might well believe him a spectre.

If Darke only knew who it is, he would fear him as much, or more.
Knowing not, he continues his flight, doubting, distracted. He has but
one clear thought, the instinct common to all chased creatures--to make
for some shelter.

A copse, a tree, even were it but a bush, anything to conceal him from
the pursuer's sight--from the shot he expects soon to be sent after him.

Ha! what is that upon the plain? A rock! And large enough to screen
both him and his horse. The very thing!

Instinctively he perceives his advantage. Behind the rock he can make
stand, and without hesitation he heads his horse for it.

It is a slight change from his former direction, and he loses a little
ground; but recovers it by increased speed. For encouraged by the hope
of getting under shelter, he makes a last spurt, urging his animal to
the utmost.

He is soon within the shadow of the rock, still riding towards it.

It is just then that Clancy loses sight of him, as of the moon. But he
is now also near enough to distinguish the huge stone; and, while
scanning its outlines, he sees the chased horseman turn around it, so
rapidly, and at such distance, he withholds his shot, fearing it may
fail.

Between pursued and pursuer the chances have changed; and as the latter
reins up to consider what he should do, he sees something glisten above
the boulder, clearly distinguishable as the barrel of a gun. At the
same instant a voice salutes him, saying:--

"I don't know who, or what you are. But I warn you to come no nearer.
If you do, I'll send a bullet--Great God!"

With the profane exclamation, the speaker suddenly interrupts himself,
his voice having changed from its tone of menace to trembling. For the
moonlight is full upon the face of him threatened; he can trace every
feature distinctly. It is the same he late saw on the sun ice of the
plain!

It can be no dream,