this fellow," he thought. "He is going
to catch me up before I reach the bank."

His first wind was failing him, and his heart began to thump against
his ribs. He spied a beaten path at this point that trended across
the meadow at a blunter angle than the one he was following.
Almost unconsciously he began to reason as follows:

"A beaten path is usually the shortest cut: also, to follow it is
usually to escape the risk of meeting unforeseen obstacles. But if I
change the angle at which I am running for one more obtuse, I give my
pursuer the advantage of ten yards or so. Yes; but I shorten the
distance to be covered, and, moreover, this is a long-distance man,
and he is wearing me down."

Though this process of reasoning appeared to him deliberate enough,
in point of fact he had worked it out and put the conclusion into
practice in a couple of bounds. As he darted aside and along the
footpath he could hear the momentary break in his antagonist's
stride.

Tristram had hardly turned into this footpath, however, before he saw
the occasion of it. Just before him lay a plank, and beneath the
plank a sunken dyke, dividing the meadow so unexpectedly that at
fifty yards' distance the green lips seemed to meet in one continuous
stretch of turf. And yet the dyke was full forty feet wide.
He leapt on to the swaying bridge and across to the farther edge,
almost without a glance at the sluggish black water under his feet.

It is probable that his sudden weight jolted the plank out of its
position. For hardly was he safe on the turf again when he heard a
sharp cry. Throwing a look behind, he saw his pursuer totter, clutch
at the slipping timber, and, still clutching at it, turn a somersault
and disappear.

Tristram ran on. Then a series of shouts rang in his ear, and he
looked behind again. The other three men had come up, and were
running aimlessly to and fro upon the farther bank. From the pit at
their feet rose a gurgling and heartrending appeal for help. It was
plain the poor fellow was drowning, and equally plain that his
comrades could not swim. Tristram took a couple of strides, and
halted. Then he faced about and walked back towards the dyke, his
heart still knocking against his ribs.

"Help! help!" resounded from the depths of the dyke.

"Gentlemen," said Tristram, "are you aware that your comrade is
perishing?"

They stared at him helplessly. Without more to-do he slipped off his
shoes, and sli