It was not unlike that made by a carbine flung across the saddle.

This suggested unpleasant possibilities, and he slackened his grip on the bridle.

Then a breathless shout rang out, "Pull up or I'll fire." Winston wondered if the threat was genuine or what is termed "bluff" in that country, but, as he had decided objections to being shot in the back to please Courthorne, sent his heels home.

The horse shot forward beneath him, and, though no carbine flashed, the next backward glance showed him that the distance between him and the pursuer was drawing out, while when he stared ahead again the dark shape of willows or birches cut the sky-line.

As they came back to him the drumming of hoofs swelled into a staccato roar, while presently the trail grew steep, and dark boughs swayed above him.