However, it was no good thinking of all that, and Jim was not one to cross bridges before he came to them, or to meet trouble half-way. His big brown had a long, easy stride which was almost restful to his rider, and Jim had a seat that gave his horse the least possible inconvenience, and between them was completest sympathy and friendship. And as to the dark, unless he absolutely ran into Cossacks he reckoned it all in his favour. It kept down his pace indeed, but at the same time it hid him from the watchful eyes on the hill-sides and the leaden messages they might have sent him. He received warm commendation for that night's ride, but, as simple matter of fact, he enjoyed it greatly, and had no difficulties beyond keeping the road in the dark and making sure it was the right one. Plain common-sense, however, bade him always trend to the left when cross-roads offered alternatives, and after leaving Mackenzie's he never set eyes on a soul till he found the Belbec an hour before midnight, and rode up through the wreathing mists of the river-bed to the highlands beyond. The dew was drenching wet and the night cold, but he got into his big fur coat, which had been rolled up behind his saddle, and suffered not at all. His thoughts ran leisurely back to them all at home,--Gracie, and Mr. Eager, and his grandfather, and Lord Deseret, and Mme Beteta, and his father's amazing revelation concerning her. He wondered whether they would ever learn the truth, and if not, how the tangle would be straightened out. He thought dimly, but with no great fear now, that they would probably both be killed if there was much fighting such as that at the Alma, so there was no need to trouble about the future. Charlie Denham, indeed, never ceased to philosophise that it was always the other fellow who was going to be killed; but if every one thought that, it was evident, even to Jim's unphilosophic mind, that there must be a flaw somewhere. Anyway, when a man's time came he died, and there was no good worrying oneself into the blues beforehand. A hoarse challenge broke suddenly on his musings, and a darker blur on the road just in front resolved itself into half a dozen horsemen. They had heard his horse's hoofs, and waited in silence to see who came. He had pulled the hood of his fur coat right up over his busby, and the heavy folds covered him almost down to the feet. He decided in a moment that safety lay in silence, so he rode straight on, waved a hand to the doubtful Cossacks, and was past Telegraph Hill before they had done discussing him. He wondered if Maxse had met them and how he had fared. An hour later he forded the Katcha and turned down the valley towards the sea. Boats were still plying between the sandy beach and the ships. The Jacks eyed him for a moment with suspicion, but gave him jovial welcome when they found that only his outer covering was Russian.