“You’d lock him up as a dangerous lunatic. I know. If I’m mistaken, I’ll own up frankly. Now, tell me the way to Mason Creek.” Kerr told him, and advised him where to get a horse. “It seems to me,” said Nick, “you’ve described a roundabout way.” “Yes, the road runs along a crooked valley and around the base of a big hill. If it was daylight, I might tell you of a short cut over the hill, but you wouldn’t be able to keep to the trail in the dark, to say nothing of the fact that the woods on the hill are not safe just now.” “Not safe?” “No. There’s a scare about panthers out that way.” “Ah! I shall have to keep my revolver handy.” “It will be as well; but, of course, you’ll stick to the road?” “Yes, though you might tell me where the trail strikes off.” “It’s about four miles from here. You pass a perfectly bare ledge a hundred yards long at your right, and then come to a stream. Instead of crossing the bridge, you can follow up the stream. In the daytime it’s plain enough, and not a bad ride for a good horse.” “All right.” Nick then gave some private instructions to Patsy, and left them. He went to the stable that Kerr had spoken of and hired a horse. It was about eight in the evening when he galloped away, and at that hour it was quite dark. The road took him quickly out of the city, and he was soon in a wild country where it would have been easy to imagine that there wasn’t a town within a hundred miles. The sky was clear, but the moon had not yet risen. Nick did not ride hard, for he felt in no hurry, and it was somewhat less than half an hour after he started when he noticed a long, high ledge at his right. “Probably the place Kerr spoke of,” he thought. He was glancing up at it, when his horse suddenly leaped violently. At the same instant there was a flash and a report from the bushes at the other side of the road. Nick’s hat flew from his head, and he felt a wave of heat cross his brow, which had been singed by a rifle bullet. His hand caught his revolver, but before it was drawn another shot came, and the horse staggered and fell dead without a struggle. Nick slipped off quickly, ran a few paces, and fell. Then he lay still and watched. Not another sound came from the bushes across the road. “Confound them!” thought Nick, who was not scratched, except for the slight mark on his forehead. “Why don’t they come out to make sure of their business?” It was clearly a case of intended murder, for, if the unseen villains had been robbers they would have crept forward to go through the pockets of the supposed dead man. And, of course, it was plain that they knew whom they were firing at, for nobody would have shot at a stranger like that. “This,” muttered Nick, “is what comes of starting on a case with a brass band at the head of the procession.” He meant by this that he believed the attempt to kill him was connected with the death of Judson.