Colonel Mellersh was the only one who was likely to ride with a cool head:  the others were for racing at the top of the horses’ speed.  And so it was that before long, as Richard Linnell sat well down and gave his horse its head, James Bell, whom the ride was gradually sobering in one sense, but also making far more excited as he realised clearly the position of his sister, shook his reins, pressed his horse’s flanks with his heels, and the brave beast began to almost fly.  Naturally enough, the Colonel’s steed pressed more heavily upon its bit, refusing, after the fashion of a cavalry horse, to be left behind, and forcing itself between the other two, till the riders were knee to knee, and tearing along as if in a desperate charge.

“We’re distressing the horses, Dick,” said Mellersh, turning his head to his right; but Bell heard him.

“I’m sorry for the horses, sir; but they are his.  Let them be distressed.”

“We must overtake them,” said Linnell between his teeth.

“Right, sir, right,” cried Bell.  “Forward, Colonel.  Please don’t draw rein.”

Fortunately for them, the night grew a little lighter, and along the treeless Down road they thundered.  Every now and then one of the horses snorted as the dust flew, but mile after mile was spurned beneath their heels and they showed no sign of distress, but seemed to rejoice in the long night gallop and the music of their clattering hoofs.

The road was singularly silent and deserted; not so much as a foot-passenger was on the way, not a vehicle was seen.

A gate at last came in view as they were breathing the horses up a hill, after riding for some distance without a word, the very silence telling the intensity of the men’s feelings.

Here was a check, for the gate was closed, and no light visible, but Bell rode close up and kicked hard at the panel, till the door in the gatekeeper’s hut was opened.

“Now, then, quick!” cried Bell.  “How long is it since a chaise and four passed?”

“Chaise and four?” said the man surlily.

“Yes, chaise and four.  Has a chaise and four passed?”

“What, to-night?”

“Yes, to-night.  Answer; quick, or ­”

He caught the man by the collar, and the evasion he was about to utter did not pass his lips.

“Yes,” he growled; “one went by.”

“How long ago?” said the Colonel.

“How long?”

“Yes, yes.  Quick, man, quick! and here’s a crown for the toll.  Keep the change.”

This seemed to enliven the surly fellow’s faculties, and he took the money and rubbed his head as he began to unfasten the gate.

“Well, how long?” cried the Colonel.

“Long?  Well a good bit ago, sir.”

“Yes, yes, but what do you mean by a good bit?”

“Mebbe two hours ­mebbe hour and a half.  I’ve been asleep since.”

“Come along,” cried the Colonel, who was as excited now as his companions.  “There’s nothing more to be got from this lout.”

They left the man leaning on the gate, having gained nothing whatever by the colloquy but a short breathing space for their horses, and these continued their gallop the moment they were through.

They passed a side road now and then, and at the first Linnell turned in his saddle.

“Is it likely that they will leave the main road?” he said.

“No,” was the prompt answer given by Bell, without waiting for the Colonel to speak.  “They’re going west ­far enough, I dare say ­and they must change their horses now and then.  We shall hear of them at Cheldon.”

Bell was right, for, when, at the end of another quarter of an hour, they cantered into the little post town, there was a light still burning in a lantern in the inn yard, and an ostler proved to be a little more communicative.

Yes, a post-chaise ­a yellow one ­came in half an hour ago, and changed horses and went on.  Their horses were all in a muck sweat, and here was one of the boys.

A postboy came out of the tap, and stood staring.

He knew nothing, he said, only that he and his mate had brought a party from Saltinville.

“A lady and gentleman?” said Linnell sharply.

“I d’know,” said the postboy.  “I didn’t ride the wheeler; I was on one of the leaders.”

“But you must have seen?” cried Linnell angrily.

“No; I didn’t see nothing.  I’d enough to do to look after my horses.  Bad road and precious hilly ’bout here, sir.”

“Come along,” cried Linnell angrily.

“Walk your horses for a few minutes,” said Mellersh quietly; and as Linnell and Bell went on he dismounted and thrust his hand into his pocket.  “Just tighten these girths for me a little, will you, my man?” he said, turning to the postboy, and slipping a guinea into his hand.

“Cert’ny, sir.  Get a bit slack they do after a few miles canter.  Steady, my lad.  Nice horse, sir, that he is,” continued the postboy, who was smooth civility itself.  “Must be a pleasure to ride him.”

“Yes,” said Mellersh, as the man went on talking and buckling with his head supporting the saddle-flap.  “You don’t get such a nag as that for a leader, eh?”

“No, sir, not likely.  Fifteen pounders is about our cut.  That one’s worth a hundred.  All of a sweat he is, and yet not a bit blown.  You’ve come fast, sir.”

“Yes; at a good rattling gallop nearly all the ten miles.”

“’Leven, sir, a good ’leven, and a bad road.”

“Is it, though?” said Mellersh quietly, as he prepared to mount again.

“All that, sir.”

“Postboys’ miles, eh?”

“No, sir; honest miles.  We’d charge twelve.  Wouldn’t you like them stirrups shortened two or three holes?” said the man eagerly.

“No, thanks; no.  I’m an old soldier, and we always ride with a long stirrup.  Matter of use.  Shall we catch them, do you think?”

“What, with them horses, sir?  Yes, easy.  They’ve got a shocking bad team.  They never have a decent change here.  Lookye here, sir.  You put on a decent canter, and you’ll be up to them before they get to Drumley.  The road’s awful for wheels for about six miles; but when you get about a mile on from here, you can turn off the road on the off-side, and there’s five miles of good, close turf for you where a chaise couldn’t go, but there’s plenty of room for a horse.  Good-night, sir; thankye, sir.  Good luck to you.”

Mellersh said “good-night” and cantered off after his companions, his steed needing no urging to join its fellows.

“Anyone would think that a guinea dissolved into golden oil and made a man’s temper and his tongue run easily.  I can’t prove it, but I should not be surprised if that was one of Rockley’s own guineas.  Odd.  Running him down with his own horses, and his own coin.  Well, he deserves it all.”

“We’re on the track right enough, Dick,” he cried, as he overtook Linnell; Bell, in his impatience, being a couple of hundred yards ahead.

“Are you sure?  I don’t understand this fellow.  Why should he be so eager to overtake that scoundrel?”

“Can’t say.  Puzzled me,” replied Mellersh drily.

“Is he leading us wrong?”

“No.  We are well on our way, and shall overtake them by the time they reach the next posting house.  Forward.”

Mellersh did not feel quite sure, but his confidence increased as he found the postboy’s words correct about the badness of the road, and the smooth turf at the side, on to which they turned, and cantered along easily for mile after mile.

Every now and then Bell burst forth with some fierce expletive, as if he could not contain his rage; and they gathered that at times it was against himself, at others against Rockley.  As fierce a rage, too, burned in Linnell’s breast, compounded of bitter hatred, jealousy, and misery.

He could not talk to Mellersh, many of whose remarks fell upon unheeding ears, while Linnell asked himself why he was doing all this to save from misery and shame a woman who did not deserve his sympathy.

But, when he reasoned thus, it seemed as if Claire’s pure, sad face looked up into his reproachfully, and the thoughts her gentle loving eyes engendered made him press his horse’s flanks, and send him along faster as he said to himself: 

“It is a mystery.  I cannot understand it; and were she everything that is bad, I should be compelled to fight for her and try to save her to the end.”

Mile after mile was passed, and though the dull thudding of their horses’ hoofs upon the soft turf gave them opportunities for hearing the rattle of wheels and the trampling on the rough road, no sound greeted their ears.

“We shall never catch them, gentlemen, like this,” cried Bell at last.  “Curse the horses!  Push on.  If we kill the poor brutes we must overtake that chaise.”

“Forward then,” said Mellersh eagerly, for there was that in the young man’s voice that cleared away the last shadow of doubt and suspicion.

They had been on the grass waste beside the road for quite five miles when, all at once, the way seemed to narrow; and they were about to turn on to the road, but Linnell drew rein suddenly.

“Stop!” he cried.  “Listen!”

There was no doubt about it.  As soon as they drew up, with their mounts breathing hard, and snorting or champing their bits, there came on the night air the beat, beat of trotting horses, and the rattle of wheels.

“There,” cried Mellersh, “that settles it.  Forward, again!”

The horses seemed almost to divine that they had only to put on a final spurt and finish their task, for they went off at a free gallop, and before long there was the rattle of the wheels plainly heard, though for the most part it was drowned by the sound of the trampling hoofs, for the pursuers were now upon the hard, chalky road.

A quarter of an hour’s hard riding and they were well in view, in spite of the darkness of the night and the cloud of dust churned up by the team in the chaise.  It was evident that the postboys were being urged to do their best; and as they had put their wretched horses to a gallop, the pursuers could see the chaise sway from side to side when the wheels jolted in and out of the ruts worn in the neglected road.

Had any doubt remained as to the occupants of the chaise, they would soon have been at an end; for, as Linnell pushed on taking one side, and Mellersh the other, Rockley’s voice could be heard shouting from the front of the chaise, and bidding the postboys whip and spur.

It was the work of minutes, then of moments, when Linnell, who was now leading in a break-neck gallop, yelled to the postboys to stop.

“Go on, you scoundrels!  Gallop!” roared Rockley from the front window.  “Go on, or I fire.”

The man on the wheeler half turned in his saddle and made as if to pull up, but there was the flash of a pistol, the quick report, and as a bullet whistled over his head, the postboy uttered a cry of fear, and bent down till his face almost touched the horse’s mane, while his companion on the leader did the same, and they whipped and spurred their jaded horses frantically.

“Stop!” shouted Linnell again.  “Stop!”

“Go on!  Gallop!” roared Rockley, “or I’ll blow out your brains.”

The men crouched lower.  Their horses tore on; the chaise leaped and rocked and seemed about to go over, and all was rush and excitement, noise and dust.

Linnell was well abreast of the chaise door now, and pushing on to get to the postboy who rode the leader, when the glass on his side was dashed down, and, pistol-in-hand, Rockley leaned out.

“Back!” he said hoarsely, “or I fire.”

“You scoundrel!” roared Linnell.  “Cowardly dog! but you are caught.”

“Stop, or I fire,” shouted Rockley again, fuming with rage and vexation at being overtaken in the hour of his triumph.

“Fire if you dare!” cried Linnell excitedly, as he pressed on.

Crack!

There was a second flash and report, and the horse Linnell rode made a spring forward as if it had been hit.

The thought flashed across Linnell’s brain that in another few moments the brave beast he bestrode would stagger and fall beneath him, and that then the cowardly scoundrel who had fired would escape with the woman he was ready to give his life to save.  A curious mist seemed to float before his eyes, the hot blood of rage to surge into his brain, lights danced before him, and for the moment he felt hardly accountable for his actions.

All he knew was that he was abreast of the wheeler, with the man whipping and spurring with all his might; that the horses were snorting and tearing along in a wild race, and that Rockley was leaning out of the window yelling to the men to gallop or he would fire again.

Linnell had a misty notion Mellersh was somewhere on the other side, and that Bell was galloping behind, but he did not call to them for help.  He did not even see that Mellersh was pushing forward and had reached out to catch the off-leader’s rein.  All he did realise was that Claire Denville, the woman he loved, was in peril; that her whole future depended upon him; and that he must save her at any cost.

He was galloping now a little in advance of the postboy.  Their knees had touched for an instant; then his leg was in front, and he was leaning forward.

“Touch that rein, and I fire,” roared Rockley.

Then there was once more a flash cutting the darkness; and as the bullet from Rockley’s pistol sped on its errand, the horse made one plunge forward, and then pitched upon its head.  There was a tremendous crash of breaking glass and woodwork, and beside the road the wreck of a chaise with two horses down, and the leaders tangled in their harness and kicking furiously till they had broken free.