the garage. She switched on the
electric headlights as they dashed down the driveway and threw a bright
white glare upon the roadway a hundred yards ahead to the gates.
Beyond the gates the public pike ran north and south.

"Which way?" she demanded of him, slowing the car.

"Stop!" he cried to her. "Stop and get out! You mustn't do this!"

"You could not pass alone," she said. "Father's men would close the
gates upon you."

"The men? There are no men there now--they went to the beach--before!
They must have heard something there! It was their being there that
turned him--the others back. They tried for the lake and were turned
back and got away in a machine; I followed--back up here!"

Harriet Santoine glanced at the face of the man beside her. She could
see his features only vaguely; she could see no expression; only the
position of his head. But now she knew that she was not helping him to
run away; he was no longer hunted--at least he was not only hunted; he
was hunting others too. As the car rolled down upon the open gates and
she strained forward in the seat beside her, she knew that what he was
feeling was a wild eagerness in this pursuit.

"Right or left--quick!" she demanded of him. "I'll take one or the
other."

"Right," he shot out; but already, remembering the direction of the
pursuit, she had chosen the road to the right and raced on. He caught
the driving wheel with his good hand and tried to take it from her; she
resisted and warned him:

"I'm going to drive this car; if you try to take it, it'll throw us
both into the ditch."

"If we catch up with them, they'll shoot; give me the car," he begged.

"We'll catch up with them first."

"Then you'll do what I say?"

"Yes," she made the bargain.

"There are their tracks!" he pointed for her.

The road was soft with the rains that precede spring, and she saw in
the bright flare of the headlights, where some heavy car, fast driven,
had gouged deep into the earth at the roadside; she noted the pattern
of the tires.

"How do you know those are their tracks?" she asked him.

"I told you, I followed them to where they got their machine."

"Who are they?"

"The men who shot Mr. Blatchford."

"Who are they?" she put to him directly again.

He waited, and she knew that he was not going to answer her directly.
She was running the car now at very high speed; the tiny electric light
above the speedometer showed they were running at fo