e the man starts upon his feet. In an instant
they are together, and the rider in his saddle.

And now Clancy is quite sure: for the figure of the horseman, outlined
against the background of moonlit sky, clear-edged as a medallion, shows
the feathered circlet surmounting his head. To all appearance a red
savage, in reality a white one--Richard Darke.

Clancy stays not to think further. If he did he would lose distance.
For soon as in the saddle, Darke goes off in full headlong gallop. In
like gait follows the avenger, forsaking the cautious pace, and no
longer caring for silence.

Still there is no noise, save that of the hammering hooves, now and then
a clink, as their iron shoeing strikes a stone. Otherwise silent,
pursuer and pursued. But with very different reflections; the former
terrified, half-frenzied, seeking to escape from whom he knows not; the
latter, cool, courageous, trying to overtake one he knows too well.

Clancy pursues but with one thought, to punish the murderer of his
mother. And sure he will succeed now. Already is the space shortened
between them, growing less with every leap of his horse. A few strides
more and Richard Darke will be within range of his rifle.

Letting drop the reins, he takes firmer grasp on his gun. His horse
needs no guidance, but goes on as before, still gaining.

He is now within a hundred lengths of the retreating foe, but still too
far off for a sure shot. Besides, the moon is in front, her light
dazzling his eyes, the man he intends to take aim at going direct for
her disc, as if with the design to ride into it.

While he delays, calculating the distance, suddenly the moon becomes
obscured, the chased horseman simultaneously disappearing from his
sight!

CHAPTER EIGHTY THREE.

AT LENGTH THE "DEATH SHOT."

Scarce for an instant is Clancy puzzled by the sudden disappearance of
him pursued. That is accounted for by the simplest of causes; a large
rock rising above the level of the plain, a loose boulder, whose breadth
interposing, covers the disc of the moon. A slight change of direction
has brought it between; Darke having deflected from his course, and
struck towards it.

Never did hunted fox, close pressed by hounds, make more eagerly for
cover, or seek it so despairingly as he. He has long ago been aware
that the pursuer is gaining upon him. At each anxious glance cast over
his shoulder, he sees the distance decreased, while the tramp of t