k than he was, Wandle's horses were plunging downhill
at a furious gallop, the rig jolting behind them, the driver leaning
forward and using the whip. There was no sign of Stanton except the
pounding of hoofs that rose among the trees.

Then the slope grew dangerously sharp and Prescott set his teeth. The
Clydesdale flinched from the descent, but it was too jaded to struggle
hard, and the next moment it stumbled and slid over the edge. They went
down, slipping over ground as hard as granite under its thin coat of
snow, smashing through nut bushes, tearing off low branches. Prescott saw
Wandle turn his head and look up at him. Then the fugitive sent up a
hoarse cry of rage and warning, too late. If he could stop his team,
which was very doubtful, he might escape the threatened collision; but
this would involve his capture by Stanton, and he lashed his horses and
went on, while Prescott and the great plow horse came madly rushing down
at him. He looked at them again, with a breathless yell; then he let the
reins fall and seized a seat rail.

The Clydesdale struck the light off-side horse, hurling it upon its
fellow, breaking the pole. Both lost their footing and were driven round.
Prescott, flung upon the backs of the horses, grasped the front of the
rig, which ran on a yard or two and overturned with a crash. The
Clydesdale went down among the wreckage, another horse was on its side,
kicking savagely; and Stanton, hurrying up, saw Prescott crawl slowly
clear of it. Seizing him, he lifted him to his feet, and to his great
surprise the man leaned against a tree with a half-dazed laugh.

"Well," he gasped, "I'm not in pieces, anyway!"

"Then you ought to be!" said Stanton, too startled to congratulate him on
his escape. "But where's Wandle?"

Prescott seemed unable to answer and the trooper, looking round, saw
Wandle lying in the snow; but before he could reach him the man began to
raise himself on his elbow. This was disconcerting, for Stanton had
thought him dead.

"Well," the trooper said stupidly, "what's the matter with you?"

"I don't know," Wandle replied weakly. "Don't feel like talking; let me
alone."

Stanton had no fear of his escaping, so he went back to the horses. One
of them stood trembling, attached to the rig by the deranged harness; the
other still lay kicking, while the big Clydesdale rolled to and fro, with
its leg through a wrenched-off wheel. It was astonishing that none of
them was killed. Pr