But now Eëtíon thought he had a chance to save Dryas. Lycophron had gone to cut off the Thermopylæ messengers because he was heart and hand with Persia. Dryas had gone with those who were intercepting the message to Athens because of weakness and fear. Eëtíon, therefore, the instant he had given word to Theria, hastened to get a horse to pursue Dryas. Horses were few in Delphi where they were of so little use. He returned to the Great Temple where workmen painting the crimson columns had left their paint. Here he smeared a red gash upon his knee and stained the breast of his cloak. Like Odysseus, Eëtíon was a man of many devices. Then mounting, he hurried from Delphi along the Athens road. He trusted much to the swiftness of his horse. The spies must go at the pace of their worst steed, nor would they feel any special need of haste. So Eëtíon hoped to overtake them. The highway was very clear under the bright moon. It was a mountain road and mountain rough. But the Argives were lovers of horses and Eëtíon had not forgotten his early skill. Sometimes he held tight rein and rode with careful slowness; again, whenever the stretch was good, he dug heels into the flanks of his horse and galloped hard. What man when at a gallop has not dreamed of his beloved? And Eëtíon had just seen Theria’s face again beyond all hope. So thin and changed it was, in its frailness almost like a child’s, and very pitiful. And oh, that little cry of joy when she saw him. That sounded again and again in his mind and mingled with the fragrance of the mountain road. So he passed the town of Daulis. Some distance beyond Daulis he saw the men he was pursuing. As soon as he neared them he began to cry out to them, cries of suffering and distress. He saw them stop. He dashed into their midst. “For the sake of the gods, save me, save me!” he cried. “What is it? What is it?” Ionians were always quick of sympathy. “Robbers set upon me. I was going to Orchomenos on a mission. You fellows can guess what kind it was. But, oh, stop the blood. See, it trails in the road.” At this Dryas dashed up. “Eëtíon,” he exclaimed, going pale. “Great Zeus! Dear fellow.” Eëtíon displayed his horrible red knee and leg and as he did so reeled in Dryas’s arms. “Help me,” he pleaded. “Don’t leave me.” Then Eëtíon lay in the road with closed eyes and heard them talking. “We ought not to stop at all. You know that.” “We’ve got to stop,” said Dryas’s voice, half weeping. “I for one will not let him lie here to die.” “But we can’t leave you here, Dryas. We need you in Athens. Who will introduce us to Themistokles?” “I won’t leave him, you’ve got to wait.” Some of them drew aside, discussing the matter in low tones. Eëtíon strained his ear to hear. He heard a scornful laugh. “Suppose we do leave Dryas here, will he join us in Athens? By the gods, he will! Wasn’t he beside himself to come?”