his life.

Turnbull broke out into a short laugh, and silence fell between them,
the panting silence of runners.

Then MacIan said: "We run better than any of those policemen. They are
too fat. Why do you make your policemen so fat?"

"I didn't do much towards making them fat myself," replied Turnbull,
genially, "but I flatter myself that I am now doing something towards
making them thin. You'll see they will be as lean as rakes by the time
they catch us. They will look like your friend, Cardinal Manning."

"But they won't catch us," said MacIan, in his literal way.

"No, we beat them in the great military art of running away," returned
the other. "They won't catch us unless----"

MacIan turned his long equine face inquiringly. "Unless what?" he
said, for Turnbull had gone silent suddenly, and seemed to be listening
intently as he ran as a horse does with his ears turned back.

"Unless what?" repeated the Highlander.

"Unless they do--what they have done. Listen." MacIan slackened his
trot, and turned his head to the trail they had left behind them. Across
two or three billows of the up and down lane came along the ground the
unmistakable throbbing of horses' hoofs.

"They have put the mounted police on us," said Turnbull, shortly. "Good
Lord, one would think we were a Revolution."

"So we are," said MacIan calmly. "What shall we do? Shall we turn on
them with our points?"

"It may come to that," answered Turnbull, "though if it does, I reckon
that will be the last act. We must put it off if we can." And he stared
and peered about him between the bushes. "If we could hide somewhere
the beasts might go by us," he said. "The police have their faults, but
thank God they're inefficient. Why, here's the very thing. Be quick and
quiet. Follow me."

He suddenly swung himself up the high bank on one side of the lane. It
was almost as high and smooth as a wall, and on the top of it the black
hedge stood out over them as an angle, almost like a thatched roof of
the lane. And the burning evening sky looked down at them through the
tangle with red eyes as of an army of goblins.

Turnbull hoisted himself up and broke the hedge with his body. As his
head and shoulders rose above it they turned to flame in the full glow
as if lit up by an immense firelight. His red hair and beard looked
almost scarlet, and his pale face as bright as a boy's. Something
violent, something that was at once love and hatred, surged in the
s