laced in a position
that requires the apparently impossible. This was the situation
George was now in. If he had stopped to ask himself the question,
"Can I do it?" he probably would have been forced to answer it in
the negative. As it was, he paid no heed to the danger behind, and
thought only of the safety in front, if he could but keep up his
speed long enough.

The infuriated rebels finding themselves unable with even their
greatest efforts to come up with their prey, now began to fire at
him, but, as their shots were not those of very expert marksmen,
George became more amused than frightened as the bullets dropped
either short of him or flew far above his head.

He was now getting into the inhabited part of the town, and tried to
elude the pursuers by turning abrupt corners, but there was little
chance of success in these tactics, for the "blackies" knew more
about the place than he was ever likely to, and kept cutting him off
in an alarming manner.

The day was beginning to break, and George felt that he must soon
give in. As he was making a rapid turn in his path a well-aimed
nabout came most uncomfortably close to his head. This incited him
to greater effort, not so much from fear of being hit, as from the
knowledge of the nearness of his pursuers.

Breathless, and with the life almost run out of him, he continued
his mad career, the hue and cry of the mob goading him on and
lending wings to his feet. Swift of foot as the blacks had been,
they had shown themselves no match so far for the trained athlete
they were pursuing. But there comes a time when even the best man
must give in, and that time George felt was rapidly approaching. He
had been running now for a long time, and had traversed a lot of
ground. However, he was not done yet, and he still kept on, although
in what direction he knew not. The street he was now in looked like
one of the principal thoroughfares, and, as he was nearing the end
of it, he saw, to his horror, another crowd ahead, running towards
him.

Instinctively he turned into a bye-way, and darted along in the
shadow of the buildings. The turning proved fatal--it was a blind
court, and ended in a small paved square, hemmed in on all sides by
the best class houses. Seeing the mistake he had made, George paused
for a moment to glance round. The mob were tearing down the court,
their cries filling the air and making the calm morning hideous with
discord.

Seeing no means of escape,