But--he would never get there. Kit saw it at a glance. Down the hill he came with pounding fists, and great knees going. His head was flung back, his face screwed tight. He had the lion's heart, this naughty little man. Death, swift and terrible, cast the shadow of its wings over him. He could not see it, but he could feel it overhead, swooping, swooping. He would not look back. His mistake made, he would do his desperate best to retrieve it. At least he would show the world how a Borderer can die. Behind him the Gentleman, the wind in his hair, was feeling for his throat. Another moment and that hub-bub of beating heart and running legs would stop for ever--skewered. Kit could not bear it. Casting disguise aside, he leapt into the creek, and snatched a pebble. "Chuck!" screamed the rifleman, and jinked like a hare. Kit saw the gleam of a white waistcoat, and flung with all his might. The pebble sped true as that which slew Goliath. It took effect between the fourth and fifth button. Down went the Gentleman with a windy groan, as though the soul was being sucked out of his body. Knapp, the pressure relieved, was his Cockney self again in a second. He swung on at a leisurely trot with the flick of heel, and swagger of elbow, peculiar to the crack taking his ease. "Thank-ye!" he called, pert and patronising. "Lucky shot!" "Run, fool, run!" yelled Kit. "The sentry!" On the crest of the hill, against the sky-line, the sentry was kneeling as he took aim. "What!--eh!--oh!--im?--blime!" and Knapp buckled to again in earnest. The sentinel fired. It was a long shot; but the man was a Grenadier of the Guard, and picked at that. Up went Knapp's arms, and down into the creek he stumbled, there to fall on his face. Up again to run a little further; down once more; turned head over heels; up again and out of sight. Kit's heart rose and fell with the little man. What to make of it?--was he hard hit?--or was he at his eternal fooling once more? CHAPTER LII OLD TOADIE I He had no time for further questions. He must see to his own line of retreat. The Gentleman was winded, and nothing more. The opening of the drain was discovered. No matter. It had done its work, or would have when once it had seen him home. He clambered up the bank, brushed through the tamarisk, back into the comfortable darkness. Thank heaven! Blob, the faithful, was still there. He marked the cheerful gleam of the lantern, a tiny red spark in the darkness. As he shuffled rapidly along he saw the patch of light on the floor beneath the man-hole. But--was he mistaken?--or was not that patch, dim and dappled before, bright now as the moon? He stopped. His heart was thumping so that he almost expected the covering drain to crack, and reveal him to the world. Suddenly the patch vanished. All was darkness save the red eye of Blob's lantern far away. Then that too went out. The blackness was stifling, horrible. He opened his mouth to draw breath.