“We’ll catch him yet! His trick shall not avail him!” I cried exultingly to Whitestone.
The wise sergeant kept silent and saved his breath. I looked back once and saw a man running after us, though far away. I knew it was Adams following us on foot, faithful to his duty.
I felt a great shudder running through the horse beneath me, and then the faithful animal began to reel like a man in liquor. I could have groaned in disappointment, for I knew these signs betokened exhaustion, and a promise that the pursuit would be left to Whitestone alone. But even as my mind formed the thought, Whitestone’s horse fell as Adams’s had fallen. My own, seeing his last comrade go down, stopped stock still, and refused to stir another inch under the sharpest goad.
“What shall we do?” I cried to Whitestone.
“Follow on foot!” he replied. “His horse must be almost as far gone as ours!”
We paused only to snatch our pistols from the holsters, and then on foot we pierced the trail of dust Chudleigh’s horse had left behind him. The fine dust crept into eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. I coughed and spluttered, and just as I was rubbing sight back into my eyes I heard a joyful cry from Whitestone. I was able to see then through the dust, and I beheld Chudleigh abandoning his horse and taking to the woods on foot.
“It’s a foot race now, and not a horse race!” I said to Whitestone.
“Yes, and we must still win!” he replied.
Poor Adams was lost to sight behind us.
About two hundred yards from the road the woods began. I feared that if Chudleigh reached these he might elude us, and I pushed myself as I had pushed my horse. Being long-legged and country bred, I am a fair runner; in fact, it is a muscular talent upon which I used to pride myself. The sergeant puffed much at my elbow, but managed to keep his place.