"It was this carrion. 'Got you this time, sir,' said he, grinning his fat beef-steak British grin. 'Clipped your wings at last, I guess.' "I said nothing. I was mad.... "He was a brave man--an extraordinarily brave man. You English, you are brave. But he was no soldier. He rode at me alone, handling that sabre of his like a flail. We'd hardly crossed blades before he knew his fate. 'You've got me, sir,' said he, splashing about with his sword. I said nothing. 'Maybe I hadn't ought to ha stuck her,' he gasped. He wasn't whining. He wasn't that sort. He knew he had to have it. 'It was tit for tat: your blood-mare--my old Robin. 'Tain't Christian, but 'tis sweet.' Then as he saw it coming--in a kind of scream--'Through the heart if you're a gentleman, sir.'... So much I permitted him. You see he was brave." Kit's brow was dank. The man's calm terrified him. "The others gave little trouble. They'd sabres; but only one had a pistol, and it wouldn't go off--English-like.... "Then they formed a rallying group. Yes, they formed a rallying group. You see they were afraid.... "It was no good. I walked round them with my pistols." Shuddering, the boy saw it all: the group of ghastly men, back to back in the hollow; silence, butterflies, and Death in breeches and boots stalking round. "Then they broke. They couldn't run: I could. I would have spared them, mud that they were--but for her. "You see," his voice was still again, "I loved her." He dreamed, his eyes upon the hills. "Yes," he said, "I was terrible." CHAPTER XXVIII ON THE TOP OF THE WORLD I The Gentleman led up the shoulder of the hill, the tails of his long riding-coat flapping about his legs. Kit, panting behind, admired him as he had never admired even Uncle Jacko. The man seemed to know no fear, striding rapidly on, his enemy behind him. True, the boy's dirk still flashed in the other's hand; but the lad had his jack-knife; and his eyes dwelt on the place where he could plant it home and home in that black back--there by the seam, where it was a little worn. And the man had the scent-bottle! Surely a fellow would be justified.... "Now's your chance, Little Chap!" came the gay voice. Kit, betrayed to his own soul, sniggered and put the dark thought away with shuddering disgust. The man was a gentleman, the man trusted him. Once he had saved his life; and once spared it. Should he pay his debt with the jack-knife? The long-striding figure went up the hill as though on wings. Kit clambered at his spurs. Escape he knew was vain. As well might a canary attempt to escape a hawk. The scabbard of the other's sword poking and peeping between his tails caught the boy's eye and fascinated it. It had seen plenty that sword, he would bet! What tales it could tell! How he should like to know!... "Have you ever fought a duel?" he blurted out. "Used to a bit. Not now." "Why?--d'you think it wrong?" The other flung back a merry laugh.