“Sir Francis,” he said, in the sharp, quick tones of a superior giving orders, “take the escort with you, and follow that fellow, till you catch or kill him. He is a rebel spy, and doubtless wants to draw some of us into an ambush. If he leads you to the rebel lines, come back and report. I shall know how to deal with him. If not, follow him, till your horses drop, and shoot down his animal, if you can. Away, sir.”
The aid-de-camp bowed low, and drew aside. The demoniac stranger was still coming fearlessly on, in a direction that would bring him near to their front, and Clark, gathering the twenty dragoons that composed the escort, rode out to intercept him.
On came the demon in silence, the red sparks streaming from horse and rider, as if about to charge the whole party.
Then, as he came within sixty feet, he uttered a loud, taunting peal of laughter, and wheeled off toward the line of videttes.
“Gallop, march!” shouted the aid-de-camp, firing his pistol, and dashing after. A volley of carbine bullets whistled round the wild rider, but away he went, fast leaving his pursuers, the same loud, taunting laugh coming back on the wind.
Away on his track went the whole party of dragoons, headed by Sir Francis Clark, and in a few minutes the line of videttes was reached. The alarm had already become general, and at least a dozen shots were fired at the flying horseman, while a single vidette rode at him with drawn saber.
Sir Francis, better mounted than the rest, was close behind, as the demon met the dragoon. He heard a clash of weapons, and the wild rider darted out unharmed, while the soldier threw up his arms and fell back off his saddle, dead!
There was no time to lose, however. Shouting to his men to follow, the English officer galloped on, keeping within thirty feet of the other, till they reached the woods. Then, with a shrill laugh, the demon rider darted under the arches of the forest, and Clark followed.
The moon was not yet up, and the darkness in the woods was intense, but still the foremost horseman galloped on as if horse and rider well knew the way. Sir Francis followed, almost alone, for the dragoons were already strung out behind, owing to the severity of the pace.
Presently a crimson glow flashed up ahead, and the officer perceived a long, flaring flame, that streamed from the head of the demoniac figure in front, revealing the short black horns and the long cloak streaming out behind, exactly like huge wings in appearance.