when his hand must lend the mare that aid,
without which he could not hope, after her great journey, to win the
far bank. His nerve was steady, and his eyes never more alert.
Everything was distinct enough about him. The bushes flying by were
clearly outlined now, and he fancied he could already see the river's
line of demarkation. On they raced, he leaning well forward, she with
her ears pricked, attentive to the murmurs of the water already so
near. Unconsciously his knees gripped the leggaderos of his saddle
with all the power he could put into the pressure, and his body was
bent crouching, as though he were about to make the spring himself.

And the moment came. He spurred and lifted; and the game beast shot
forward like a rocket. A moment, and she landed. But the half lights
must have deceived her. She had jumped further than before, and,
crashing into a boulder with her two fore feet, she turned a complete
somersault, and fell headlong to the ground, hurling her rider yards
out of the saddle into the soft loose sand of the trail beyond.

Quite unhurt, Tresler was on his feet in an instant. But the mare lay
still where she had fallen. A hopeless feeling of regret swept over
the man as he turned and beheld her. He saw the masked rider dash at
the hillside on his weary horse, not twenty yards from him, but he
gave him no heed.

It needed no look into the mare's glazing eyes to tell him what he had
done. He had killed her. The first really honest act of her life had
led to the unfortunate creature's own undoing. Her lean ewe neck was
broken, as were both her forelegs.

The moment he had ascertained the truth he left her, and, looking up
at the hill, saw that it was high time. The rider had vanished, but
his jaded horse was standing half-way up the hillside in the mire of
loose sand. It was either too frightened or too weary to move, and
stood there knee-deep, a picture of dejection.

The task of mounting to the ledge was no light one, but Tresler faced
it without a second thought. The other had only something less than a
minute's start of him, and as there was only one other exit to the
place--and that, he remembered, of a very unpromising nature--he had
few fears of the man's ultimate escape. No, there was no escape for
him; and besides--a smile lit up the hard set of his features at the
thought--daylight had really come. The clouds had at last given way
before the rosy herald of sunrise.

The last of the asc