a gallop. This set Pasha to tugging eagerly at the bit, but
for what reason he did not know. He knew only that he was part of a
great and solid line of men and horses sweeping furiously across a field
toward that other line which he had seen pouring over the hill-crest.

He could scarcely see at all now. The thousands of hoofs had raised a
cloud of dust that not only enveloped the onrushing line, but rolled
before it. Nor could Pasha hear anything save the thunderous thud of
many feet. Even the shrieking of the shells was drowned. But for the
restraining bit Pasha would have leaped forward and cleared the line.
Never had he been so stirred. The inherited memory of countless desert
raids, made by his Arab ancestors, was doing its work. For what seemed a
long time this continued, and then, in the midst of the blind and
frenzied race, there loomed out of the thick air, as if it had appeared
by magic, the opposing line.

Pasha caught a glimpse of something which seemed like a heaving wall of
tossing heads and of foam-whitened necks and shoulders. Here and there
gleamed red, distended nostrils and straining eyes. Bending above was
another wall, a wall of dusty blue coats, of grim faces, and of
dust-powdered hats. Bristling above all was a threatening crest of
waving blades.

What would happen when the lines met? Almost before the query was
thought there came the answer. With an earth-jarring crash they came
together. The lines wavered back from the shock of impact and then the
whole struggle appeared to Pasha to centre about him. Of course this was
not so. But it was a fact that the most conspicuous figure in either
line had been that of the cream-white charger in the very centre of the
Black Horse regiment.

For one confused moment Pasha heard about his ears the whistle and clash
of sabres, the spiteful crackle of small arms, the snorting of horses,
and the cries of men. For an instant he was wedged tightly in the
frenzied mass, and then, by one desperate leap, such as he had learned
on the hunting field, he shook himself clear.

Not until some minutes later did Pasha notice that the stirrups were
dangling empty and that the bridle-rein hung loose on his neck. Then he
knew that at last he was free from "Mars" Clayton. At the same time he
felt himself seized by an overpowering dread. While conscious of a
guiding hand on the reins Pasha had abandoned himself to the fierce joy
of the charge. But now, finding himself rider