under his coat of mail, thrust it back again, and brandishing his spear,
he came, full speed and yelling, up the middle of the field. It was a
strange thing to happen in these modern days, but Marston was an officer
of the law and was between the Wild Dog and the Ford and liberty through
the Gap, into the hills. The Wild Dog was an outlaw. It was Marston's
duty to take him.

The law does not prescribe with what weapon the lawless shall be
subdued, and Marston's spear was the only weapon he had. Moreover, the
Wild Dog's yell was a challenge that set his blood afire and the
girl both loved was looking on. The crowd gathered the meaning of the
joust--the knights were crashing toward each other with spears at rest.
There were a few surprised oaths from men, a few low cries from women,
and then dead silence in which the sound of hoofs on the hard turf was
like thunder. The Blight's face was white and the little sister was
gripping my arm with both hands. A third horseman shot into view out of
the woods at tight angles, to stop them, and it seemed that the three
horses must crash together in a heap. With a moan the Blight buried her
face on my shoulder. She shivered when the muffled thud of body against
body and the splintering of wood rent the air; a chorus of shrieks
arose about her, and when she lifted her frightened face Marston, the
Discarded, was limp on the ground, his horse was staggering to his feet,
and the Wild Dog was galloping past her, his helmet gleaming, his eyes
ablaze, his teeth set, the handle of his broken spear clinched in his
right hand, and blood streaming down the shoulder of the black horse.
She heard the shots that were sent after him, she heard him plunge into
the river, and then she saw and heard no more.

VIII. THE KNIGHT PASSES

A telegram summoned the Blight a home next day. Marston was in bed with
a ragged wound in the shoulder, and I took her to tell him good-by. I
left the room for a few minutes, and when I came back their hands were
unclasping, and for a Discarded Knight the engineer surely wore a happy
though pallid face.

That afternoon the train on which we left the Gap was brought to a
sudden halt in Wildcat Valley by a piece of red flannel tied to the end
of a stick that was planted midway the track. Across the track, farther
on, lay a heavy piece of timber, and it was plain that somebody meant
that, just at that place, the train must stop. The Blight and I were
seated on th