The moon was rising behind him, throwing a dim misty radiance over the bare fields to right and left. As he reached the cross-roads, and wheeled round into the highway towards Salamanca, he saw, some hundred yards ahead, several dark forms on both sides of the road, creeping along with stealthy movements in the same direction. Carrying his gaze beyond them, he descried a man leading a horse, who, he instantly concluded, was being followed by a gang of foot-pads, or of the brigands who notoriously infested every part of Spain. Almost involuntarily Jack pricked his horse forward; he saw that the furtive band were rapidly lessening the distance between them and the walking horseman, who every now and then half-turned to look at them, and then resumed his slow progress. The road was so soft, and the men were so intent upon their expected prey, that they did not hear the sound of Jack’s approach until he was within a few yards of them. Then a sudden splash in a large puddle caused them to stop and look round; Jack galloped up, and as he passed them, ostentatiously held his pistol so that a glint of moonlight fell on the barrel. At the same moment the dismounted rider heard the pad of his horse’s hoofs; he paused, still holding the bridle, and turned towards Jack, who pulled his horse across the road and glanced back at the brigands. They had now formed a group, and stood in the middle of the road. Jack clicked the lock of his pistol. After an instant’s hesitation the men turned in a body and vanished into the darkness. "Many thanks!" said the pedestrian. "I was never more glad to see a British officer. Those bandits have been following me up for some minutes. My horse is lame, as you see, and though I’ve a couple of pistols handy I’m afraid I’d be no match for eight big fellows with their knives. And I’ve a particular reason for avoiding risks." "They’ve had the discretion to sheer off," said Jack, turning again towards Salamanca. "It’s unlucky your horse is lamed. Have you been riding far, sir?" "About five hundred miles," was the reply. Jack stared. "No wonder your horse is lame—though you didn’t ride the whole distance on the same beast, I suppose." "No indeed; but I’ve scarcely been out of the saddle for six days—" "Six days! Hard riding that, sir." "True. The fact is, I’ve most important despatches for Sir John Moore, and haven’t wasted a minute more than I could help." Jack was off his horse in a moment. "In that case, sir, pray take my horse and finish your ride with equal speed. If you bring news for the general, no one will be more delighted to see you. It’s only about three miles, and the road’s straight ahead; I’ll follow with your horse." "That’s very good of you. I didn’t like the idea of trudging in in this lame fashion. You’re sure you don’t mind? Those brigands, eh?" "Not a bit. They won’t show their noses again." By this time the stranger had mounted Jack’s horse, and was preparing to ride off.