Pulling my sword out from the staples, I drew it, and rushed forth in pursuit. Yet, though I had thus lost scarce half a minute, there was no sign of anyone outside; and not a sound came from the bushes which grew thickly all around, and were the only means of hiding near. Baffled and perplexed, I walked silently along the turf a little way, stopping every yard or so to listen. Still naught was to be heard. That sly disturber of my sleep had disappeared as if by magic. This was an ugly state of things--indeed, I liked it not; and so, bethinking me that to go farther might spell danger to my mare, I ran back to the stable. The sun had now moved down considerably (thus proving that I must have slept some hours), and the heat, though still oppressive, was not so overpowering as it had been; but, even had it still been like a furnace, I would not have tarried longer in that haunted place. So, with the memory of a clawing hand to hurry me, I tightened Kitty’s girths, and, having led her forth, was just about to mount, when something hissed close past my face and stuck quivering in a tree-stem. It was a small black arrow! The mystery was explained at last, and the knowledge that my dreaded enemy lurked thus close to me was so appalling that I shame not to confess my knees smote one against the other, while a clammy sweat broke out upon my forehead. Leaping to the saddle I urged Kitty forward, at the same time bending low by instinct; and well it was I did so, for next moment a pistol cracked behind me and the bullet whistled just above my shoulder. Two inches lower and I had been hit! Glancing back, when we had covered some three hundred yards, I saw no sign of Tubal Ammon, and was just thanking Heaven for such a merciful deliverance, when suddenly my mare stopped dead and broke out trembling with fear. The cause of this was just ahead, for there an old man lay upon his back among the heather. Going close up I gazed down on him, and, to my horror, found that he was dead. His eyes stared up at me with awful fixedness. Moreover, he had met his death by violence, as was clearly proven by the gaping knife-wound in his breast. Stabbed through the heart! He was well dressed (a yeoman farmer by the look of him), and wore riding boots with spurs. Thus it was clear he had been riding when death overtook him. What, then? How came he thus? Where was his horse? These questions were full quickly answered; for barely had I put them to myself when from behind there came the sound of thudding hoofs, and, starting round, I saw Tubal Ammon galloping towards me on a long-legged, bony beast.