By now the echoes of the approaching hoofbeats were reverberating clear and crepitant from against the steep side of the opposite hill. The Renegade Duke had not done sinking into the crackling brush when Sir Richard wheeled, and, touching rowels lightly to his stallion's foam-flecked side, made off with all the speed there was left in him.
[CHAPTER X]
OF A NIGHT IN A SHEPHERD'S HUT, AND A SURPRISE IN THE MORNING
So far as qualities of speed and endurance were concerned, Sir Richard would have willingly matched his powerful stallion against any in Scotland. Having no fear, therefore, of the possibility of his recapture, he settled himself with some comfort in his saddle, enjoying a great measure of satisfaction in the belief that he would soon outdistance his pursuers. That he was indeed being followed he was left in no manner of doubt, as not for a single instant did the ring of hoof-beats pause at the spot where his late adversary had sprawled so ignominiously into the brambles.
Being wholly unaware as to the number of miles that might stretch away between himself and Castle Yewe, he deemed it unwise to urge his mount to top speed. Besides, the road along which he was forced to travel was not over-free from scattered boulders and rather steep of descent. He accordingly contented himself with making haste slowly, as the saying goes, maintaining a long, easy, sweeping stride, and observing every possible precaution against the accidental stumbling or laming of his horse. Moreover, in the thin, clear air of the uplands the rattling of steel hoofs against the flinty earth would assuredly carry for the greater part of a league. For this reason he entertained but slight hope of throwing his pursuers off his trail till the character of the soil became changed.
Twice within the distance of the flight of an arrow the road swerved sharply to the left, which rendered it quite impossible, on account of the tangle of bushes that shot high above his crest on either hand, to ascertain how closely they were following at his heels, or how many were engaged in the chase. At times he could have sworn that there was but one. Then, when he would be just upon the point of drawing rein, purposing to try conclusions with that which he supposed to be his single foeman, the surrounding foothills would carry to his ears the echoes of a battalion of flying horsemen, whereupon he would touch spurs to his stallion's side and scurry hot-footed up and down dale until the sounds had dwindled again to a mere faint pattering in the twilight distance.
Two full hours of hard riding did not suffice materially to alter the positions of pursuer and pursued. By then the moon had shot clear of the hills, adding her pallid luster to the clear, star-powdered vault, and still Sir Richard could catch the faint pounding of persistent hoofs at his back. Arriving presently at a point where a wider roadway forked to the left, he decided to take his way along that. He was gratified to find that it yielded soft to the hoof, muffling to a considerable extent the hitherto loud noise of his flight.
Sprinting madly for the distance of something near an eighth of a league, he dismounted and led his tired horse within the shadows of a thick wood, fringing the highway to the northward. Tethering him to a tree at a safe distance from the road, he then retraced his way rapidly but cautiously toward the juncture of the two highroads. Purposing through this simple stratagem, should chance favor him, to have a look at his pursuing enemies.
The young knight enjoyed a quiet laugh at his own expense when he discovered that his flying battalion of horsemen had narrowed down to one, and that one, de Claverlok. His rugged profile was set fair against the enormous face of the moon, as he drew to a stand not above a dozen feet from where Sir Richard lay concealed. Distinctly the young knight could see his grizzled head, a silhouette of black against a yellow circle, showing as clear and clean cut as a finely chiseled statue.