We trotted on again at our usual pace. Presently, something occurred to me. Mr. Jermyn, I said; “would you like me to see who it is? I could slip off as we go. I could lie down flat so that he would pass against the sky. Then you could come back for me.” He did not like the scheme at first. He said that it would be too dark for me to see anybody; but that when we were nearer to the town it might be done. So we rode on at our quick trot for a couple of more, hearing always behind us a faint beat of upon the road, like the echo of our own hoofs. After a time they stopped suddenly, nor did we hear them again. “D'you know what he's done, Martin?” said Mr. Jermyn. “No, sir,” I answered. “He's muffled his horse's hoofs with duffle shoes. A sort of thick felt slippers. He was in too great a hurry to do that before. There are the lights of the town.” “Shall I get down, sir?” “If you can without my pulling up. Don't speak. But lay your head on the road. You'll hear the horse, then, if I'm right.” “Then I'll lie still,” I said, “to see if I can see who it is.” “Yes. But make no sign. He may shoot. He may take you for a footpad. I'll ride back to you in a minute.” He slowed down the horse so that I could slip off unheard on to the turf by the roadside. When he had gone a little distance, I laid my ear to the road. Sure enough, the noise of the other horse was faint but plain in the distance, coming along on the road, avoiding the turf. The turf vas trenched in many drains, so as to make dangerous riding at night. I lay down flat on the turf, with my pistol in my hand. I was excited; but I remember that I enjoyed it. I felt so like an ancient Briton lying in wait for his enemy. I tried to guess the distance of this strange horse from me. It is always difficult to judge either distance or location by sound, when the wind is blowing. The horse hoofs sounded about a quarter of a mile away. I know not how far they really were. Very soon I could see the black moving mass coming quietly along the road. The duffle hoof-wraps made a dull plodding noise near at hand. Nearer the unknown rider came, suspecting nothing. I could see him bent forward, peering out ahead. I could even take stock of him, dark though it was. He was a not very tall man, wearing a full Spanish riding cloak. It seemed to me that he checked his horse's speed somewhere in the thirty yards before he passed me. Then, just as he passed, just as I had a full view of him, blackly outlined against the stars, his horse shied violently at me, on to the other side of the road. The rider swung him about on the instant to make him face the danger. I could see him staring down at me, as he bent forward to pat his horse's neck. I bent my head down so that my face was hidden in the grass.