g fugitives, cut off his flight in one direction,
and the extra weight on his horse prevented him from getting clear by
means of speed alone--as he might have done otherwise, for Cunningham's
mare was growing tired.

Jaimihr rode for two minutes with the frenzy of a savage before he saw
the futility of it. It was Cunningham's mare, gaining on him stride
over stride, that warned him he would be cut down like a dog from behind
unless he surrendered or let go his prize.

So he laughed and threw the girl to the ground. For a moment more he
spurted, spurring like a fiend, then wheeled and charged at Cunningham.
He guessed that but for Cunningham that number of Rangars would never
have agreed on a given plan. He knew that it was he, and not Cunningham
or Alwa or Rosemary McClean, who had broken faith. He had broken it in
thought, and word, and action. And he had lost his prospect of a throne.
So he came on like a man who has nothing to gain by considering his
safety. He came like a real man at last. And Cunningham, on a tired
mare, met him point to point.

They fought over a quarter of a mile of ground, for Jaimihr proved to
be as useful with his weapon as Mahommed Gunga's teaching had made
Cunningham. There was plenty of time for the reformed squadrons to see
what was happening--plenty of time for Alwa, who considered that he had
an account of his own to settle with the Prince, to leave his squadron
and come thundering up to help. Mahommed Gunga dodged and reined and
spurred, watching his opportunity on one side and Alwa on the other. It
would have suited neither of them to have their leader killed at that
stage of the game, but the fighting was too quick for either man to
interfere.

Jaimihr charged Cunningham for the dozenth time and missed, charged
past, to wheel and charge again, then closed with the most vindictive
rush of all. Again Cunningham met him point to point. The two blades
locked, and bent like springs as they wrenched at them. Cunningham's
blade snapped. He snatched at his mare and spun her before Jaimihr could
recover, then rammed both spurs in and bore down on the Prince with half
a sabre. He had him on the near side at a disadvantage. Jaimihr spurred
and tried to maneuver for position, and the half sabre went home just
below his ribs. He dropped bleeding in the dust at the second that Alwa
and Mahommed Gunga each saw an opportunity and rushed in, to rein back
face to face, grinning in each other's face