dges were thrust
home. Fyles, with Corporal Mooney, kept to the trail.

A moment passed. Then the first carbine spat out its vicious pellet.
Fyles, watching, fancied that the fugitive had begun to flog his
horse. Now, in swift succession, the other carbines added their
chorus. There was no check in the pace of the pursuers. The
well-trained horses were used to the work.

The first volley seemed ineffective. The men had not yet got their
sights. The fugitive had another fifty yards before he reached the top
of the long incline.

The distance to the top of the hill was lessening rapidly. Fyles was
becoming anxious. It had become a matter of seconds before the man
would clear the ridge.

"Keep low," cried the corporal, warningly, in the excitement of the
moment. "A ricochet--anything will do. Get his horse."

The horseman was twenty yards from the crest of the hill. Fifteen. The
carbines again rattled out their hurried fire.

Ten yards--in a moment he would be----

A cloud of dust arose suddenly among the feet of the fugitive's horse.
It cleared. Fyles gave a sigh of relief and raced Peter forward. The
man's horse had crashed to the ground.

* * * * *

Fyles was gazing down upon the body of the fallen man. The horse was
lying a few yards away, struggling to rise. A great welter of blood
flooded the sandy track all about it.

A trooper walked up to the horse. He placed the muzzle of his carbine
close behind the poor creature's ear. The next moment there was a
sharp report. The head dropped heavily to the ground and remained
quite still.

The corporal looked up at his superior. He was kneeling beside the
body of Charlie Bryant.

"I'm afraid it's all up with him, sir," he said seriously. "But he
wasn't hit. I can't find a sign of a hit. I--think his neck's
broken--or--or something. It was the fall. He's dead, sir--sure."

The officer's face never changed its stern expression. But the
suspicion of a sigh escaped him. He was by no means an unfeeling man,
but he had his duty to do. In this case there was more than his duty
concerned. Hence the sigh. Hence any lack of appreciation.

"It's the man I expected," he said. "A foolish fellow, but--a smart
man. You're sure he's dead? Sure?"

The corporal nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Poor devil. I'm sorry."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE FALL OF THE OLD PINE

The gray of dawn was slowly gladdening toward the warmer hue of day.
The east