that the horseman who has disturbed Richard
Darke's uncomfortable reflections is Charles Clancy. Less than an hour
has elapsed since his starting on the trail, which he has followed fast;
the fresh scent enabling Brasfort to take it up in a run. From the way
it zigzagged, and circled about, Clancy could tell the tracked steed had
been going without guidance, as also guess the reason. The rider,
fleeing in affright, has given no heed to direction. All this the
pursuer knows to be in his favour; showing that the pursued man has not
gone to Coyote creek, but will still be on the steppe, possibly astray,
and perhaps not far off.

Though himself making quick time, he is not carelessly pursuing; on the
contrary taking every precaution to ensure success. He knows that on
the hard turf his horse's tread can be heard to a great distance; and to
hinder this he has put the animal to a "pace"--a gait peculiar to Texas
and the South-Western States. This, combining speed with silence, has
carried him on quickly as in a canter. The hound he has once more
muzzled, though not holding it in leash; and the two have gone gliding
along silent as spectres.

At each turn of the trail, he directs looks of inquiry ahead.

One is at length rewarded. He is facing the moon, whose disc almost
touches the horizon, when alongside it he perceives something dark upon
the plain, distinguishable as the figure of a horse. It is stationary
with head to the ground, as if grazing, though by the uneven outline of
its back it bears something like a saddle. Continuing to scrutinise, he
sees it is this; and, moreover, makes out the form of a man, or what
resembles one, lying along the earth near by.

These observations take only an instant of time; and, while making them
he has halted, and by a word, spoken low, called his hound off the
trail. The well-trained animal obeying, turns back, and stands by his
side waiting.

The riderless horse, with the dismounted rider, are still a good way
off, more than half a mile. At that distance he could not distinguish
them, but for the position of the moon, favouring his view. Around her
rim the luminous sky makes more conspicuous the dark forms interposed
between.

He can have no doubt as to what they are. If he had, it is soon solved.
For while yet gazing upon them--not in conjecture, but as to how he may
best make approach--he perceives the tableau suddenly change. The horse
tosses up its head, whil