flung it about and then charged back, still
yelling, upon the amazed foe.

"He's crazy--he's gone clean out of his head!" muttered Claiborne,
restraining his horse with difficulty. "What do you make of it?"

"He's having fun with them. He's just rattling them to warm himself
up--the little beggar. I didn't know it was in him."

Back went Oscar toward the two horsemen he had passed less than a minute
before, still yelling, and this time he discharged his revolver with
seeming unconcern, for the value of ammunition, and as he again dashed
between them, and back through the gray curtain, Armitage gave the word,
and he and Claiborne swept on at a gallop.

Durand was out of sight, and Chauvenet turned and looked behind him
uneasily; then he spoke sharply to Zmai. Oscar's wild ride back and forth
had demoralized the horses, which were snorting and plunging wildly. As
Armitage and Claiborne advanced Chauvenet spoke again to Zmai and drew
his own revolver.

"Oh, for a saber now!" growled Claiborne.

But it was not a moment for speculation or regret. Both sides were
perfectly silent as Claiborne, leading slightly, with Armitage pressing
close at his left, galloped toward the two men who faced them at the gray
wall of mist. They bore to the left with a view of crowding the two
horsemen off the road and into the preserve, and as they neared them they
heard cries through the mist and rapid hoof-beats, and Durand's horse
leaped the ditch at the roadside just before it reached Chauvenet and
Zmai and ran away through the rough underbrush into the wood, Oscar close
behind and silent now, grimly intent on his business.

The revolvers of Zmai and Chauvenet cracked together, and they, too,
turned their horses into the wood, and away they all went, leaving the
road clear.

"My horse got it that time!" shouted Claiborne.

"So did I," replied Armitage; "but never you mind, old man, we've got
them cornered now."

Claiborne glanced at Armitage and saw his right hand, still holding his
revolver, go to his shoulder.

"Much damage?"

"It struck a hard place, but I am still fit."

The blood streamed from the neck of Claiborne's horse, which threw up its
head and snorted in pain, but kept bravely on at the trot in which
Armitage had set the pace.

"Poor devil! We'll have a reckoning pretty soon," cried Armitage
cheerily. "No kingdom is worth a good horse!"

They advanced at a trot toward the Port.

"You'll be afoot any minut