He settled himself doggedly to the chase. Such veritably it became; for soon it was evident that the quarry knew itself to be pursued, and tactically wished to allure him on to a destructive speed. But, little by little the horseman gained on the other. He got near enough to mark Brander’s head thrust intermittently from the window--by and by to hear faintly the rascal’s voice cursing on his leaping postillion. Suddenly the leading party took an unexpected way, brought out on the high-road leading from Winchester to Stockbridge, and went careering for the latter place at a gallop. “Ha!” cried Tuke to himself, “that double won’t draw me from the scent, my friend!” It was all give-and-take country they raced by--desolate downland that dropped and rose like a flying sparrow. Over it the pace became terrific. The post-boy lashed his horses till they foamed; the rider galled the sides of his poor straining beast. Something, it was obvious, must happen shortly--to whom was the single question. The pursuer was to triumph. At the crest of that very slope that led up to the high gallows-tree, the ridden post-horse shied at a dangling chain, threw his mount, brought his fellow to his knees--and in a moment carriage and cattle were a plunging tangle of confusion. With a shout of jubilation, Tuke spurred up the hill and rode upon his enemy. CHAPTER XXXIII. Before the other could reach him, the ready Mr. Brander had extricated himself from his perilous position and, leaving the bruised post-boy to manage his own, strode back a pace or two, his hands groping rigidly in the skirt-pockets of his mangy surtout. Mr. Tuke, apt at an emergency, came up pistol in hand, which seeing, the long rogue halted with a stony face, of which only the lurid eyes belied the expressionlessness. For some seconds the two men faced one another without a word. At length said the pursued: “No doubt, sir, you are come to explain yourself.” “I have nothing to explain,” said the other, stiff as the trigger of his own weapon and as deadly. “To what, then, am I to attribute this pursuit and maltreatment of a harmless traveller using without offence the King’s highway?” “Mr. Brander, I am not convinced my legitimate answer should not be a bullet through your brain. I may give it yet, if you do not take your fingers from that pistol butt.” The rogue flung his hands in front of him, and clasped them there. “This, you will admit,” he said quietly, “is a gross outrage. I have done nothing to deserve it. I take post on my own concerns, and am wantonly driven to this pass with any possibility of consequences.” “For which you have yourself to thank. There must be two to a hunt. Had you not fled I had not driven.” “Surely, sir, it is excusable to fly a danger, and for an innocent traveller to read evil in one who spurs after him along a lonely road?” Mr. Tuke permitted himself a spirt of merriment.