“I wish it had failed,” I exclaimed in wrath and fury, “for he has made fools of us!”
We wheeled our horses about as if they turned on pivots and raced back after the wily plowman. I swore to myself a mighty oath that I would cease to be certain about the identity of anybody, even of Whitestone himself. Whitestone swore out loud about a variety of things, and Adams was equal to his opportunities.
We were speedily back in the main road. I doubted not that Chudleigh had hurried on toward the south. In truth he could not afford to do otherwise, and he would profit as fast as he could by the breathing space obtained through the trick he had played upon us. I wondered at the man’s courage and presence of mind, and it was a marvel that we had not gone much farther on the wrong road before detecting the stratagem.
The road lay across a level country and we saw nothing of Chudleigh. Nevertheless we did not spare our weary horses. We were sure he was not very far ahead, and it was no time for mercy to horseflesh. Yet I thought of the poor brutes. I said to Whitestone I trusted they would last.
“As long as his, perhaps,” replied Whitestone.
But the truth soon became evident that he was wrong in part. We heard a great groan, louder than a man can make, and Adams’s horse went down in a cloud of dust. I pulled up just enough to see that Adams was not hurt, and to shout to him:
“Follow us as best you can!”
Then on we went. Far ahead of us in the road we saw a black speck. Whether man, beast, or a stump, I could not say, but we hoped it was Chudleigh.
“See, it moves!” cried Whitestone.
Then it was not a stump, and the chance that it was Chudleigh increased. Soon it became apparent that the black object was not only moving, but moving almost as fast as we. By and by we could make out the figure of a man lashing a tired horse. That it was Chudleigh no longer admitted of doubt.