We were speedily back in the main road. I doubted not that Chudleigh had hurried on toward the south. In truth he could not afford to do otherwise, and he would profit as fast as he could by the breathing space obtained through the trick he had played upon us. I wondered at the man’s courage and presence of mind, and it was a marvel that we had not gone much farther on the wrong road before detecting the stratagem. The road lay across a level country and we saw nothing of Chudleigh. Nevertheless we did not spare our weary horses. We were sure he was not very far ahead, and it was no time for mercy to horseflesh. Yet I thought of the poor brutes. I said to Whitestone I trusted they would last. “As long as his, perhaps,” replied Whitestone. But the truth soon became evident that he was wrong in part. We heard a great groan, louder than a man can make, and Adams’s horse went down in a cloud of dust. I pulled up just enough to see that Adams was not hurt, and to shout to him: “Follow us as best you can!” Then on we went. Far ahead of us in the road we saw a black speck. Whether man, beast, or a stump, I could not say, but we hoped it was Chudleigh. “See, it moves!” cried Whitestone. Then it was not a stump, and the chance that it was Chudleigh increased. Soon it became apparent that the black object was not only moving, but moving almost as fast as we. By and by we could make out the figure of a man lashing a tired horse. That it was Chudleigh no longer admitted of doubt. “We’ll catch him yet! His trick shall not avail him!” I cried exultingly to Whitestone. The wise sergeant kept silent and saved his breath. I looked back once and saw a man running after us, though far away. I knew it was Adams following us on foot, faithful to his duty. I felt a great shudder running through the horse beneath me, and then the faithful animal began to reel like a man in liquor. I could have groaned in disappointment, for I knew these signs betokened exhaustion, and a promise that the pursuit would be left to Whitestone alone. But even as my mind formed the thought, Whitestone’s horse fell as Adams’s had fallen. My own, seeing his last comrade go down, stopped stock still, and refused to stir another inch under the sharpest goad. “What shall we do?” I cried to Whitestone. “Follow on foot!” he replied. “His horse must be almost as far gone as ours!” We paused only to snatch our pistols from the holsters, and then on foot we pierced the trail of dust Chudleigh’s horse had left behind him. The fine dust crept into eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. I coughed and spluttered, and just as I was rubbing sight back into my eyes I heard a joyful cry from Whitestone. I was able to see then through the dust, and I beheld Chudleigh abandoning his horse and taking to the woods on foot. “It’s a foot race now, and not a horse race!” I said to Whitestone. “Yes, and we must still win!” he replied. Poor Adams was lost to sight behind us.