stened acutely.
They stood thus, the mare's great body heaving under him, until her
rider caught the faint sound of breaking bush somewhere directly ahead
of them.

Instantly recollection came to his help, and he laughed as he turned
the mare off the trail and plunged into the scrub. It was the spot
where, once before, he had taken, unwillingly, to the bush. There was
no hesitation, no uncertainty. They raced through the tangle, and
threaded their way on to the disused trail they had both traveled
before.

The fugitive had gained considerably now, and Tresler, for the first
time since the race had begun, asked his mare for more pace. She
simply shook her head, snorted, and swished her tail, as though
protesting that the blow was unnecessary. She could not do the
impossible, and that he was asking of her. But his forcible request
was the nervous result of his knowledge that the last lap of the race
had been entered upon and the home stretch was not far off. It must be
now or never.

He soon realized that the remaining distance was all too short. As he
came to the place where the forest abruptly terminated, he saw that
day had broken. The gray light showed him to be still thirty yards or
so behind.

They had reached the broken lands he remembered so well. Before him
stretched the plateau leading to the convergence of the river and the
cliff. It was the sight of this which gave him an inspiration. He
remembered the branching trail to the bridge, also the wide sweep it
took, as compared with the way he had first come. To leap the river
would gain him fifty yards. But in that light it was a risk--a grave
risk. He hesitated. Annoyed at his own indecision, he determined to
risk everything on one throw. The other horse was distinctly lagging.
He reached down and patted his mare's neck. And that simple action
restored his confidence; he felt that she was still on top of her
work. The river would have no terrors for her.

He saw the masked man turn off for the bridge, but he held straight
on. He gave another anxious look at the sky. The dull gray was still
unbroken by any flush of sunrise, but it was lighter, certainly. The
mask of clouds was breaking, though it still contrived to keep
daylight in abeyance. He had no option but to settle himself in the
saddle for the great effort. Light or no light, he could not turn back
now.

And for the while he forgot the fugitive. His mind centred on the
river ahead, and the moment