With the thought of Kitty Grigg pounding at his heart in time with the thunder of hoofs behind, Norton rode on like a madman. Did Duval escape, the girl would be in his power. "He shall not escape," vowed Norton inwardly. "Faster!" And again he urged his mount to fresh efforts, his led horse pounding at his side. Behind, the fourteen were strung out along the uneven blazed trail in frantic pursuit. They were following a "trace" which struck southwest to avoid the windings of the river, for it was thus that their quarry had gone. The road was not worthy the name, yet was the shortest route to Henderson. "Hold up, man--hold up!" came the voice of Audubon. "You'll kill our steeds at this rate!" "When they die, your led horses remain," flung back Norton, and dug in his heels once more. His beast was white with foam already, but held to its steady gallop; all the horses were finely bred, out of the best blue-grass country around Louisville, and could be depended on till the last. Without slacking the mad gait, Norton drew in his second horse; flinging his leg over the saddle, he changed seats successfully. It was a splendid bit of horsemanship, but his followers could not emulate it. "Hold up, Norton!" roared Taylor. "Wait for us to change----" "I'm after Duval," he retorted, and looked around. "Let the rest wait!" Half the fourteen were already drawing rein, preparing to change their mounts; Audubon alone swung to his spare horse at full gallop, and pounded on with a ringing laugh. Five minutes later Norton saw a man standing in the road ahead, and drew in slightly. The man was a settler, watching them in staring wonder. "Anyone passed?" flung out Norton, pulling up. "Two men--three horses, fifteen minutes since," came the answer. "What's gwine on----?" "After them!" shouted Norton, and loosened his reins. Mile after mile wound past. They were in the full wilderness now, the "trace" being nothing but a rudely blazed trail winding amid girdled trees and short stumps. Settlers were scarce and the road was little travelled, but as Norton whipped into a branch and leaned down, he could see hoof-marks in the soil beneath him, and the sight lent him fresh eagerness. A yell and a crash from behind made him twist about in the saddle. Two of his men had smashed together and gone down in a mad heap; another plunged full into them; the rest leaped clear. It required skill to follow that road at full speed, but Norton never slackened. Ever at his flank rode Audubon, rifle on saddle, while Ayres and Taylor followed next. Tarascon had fallen behind; looking back after a little, Norton saw the merchant's horse falling, and sent back a wild laugh. "_Sauve qui peut_! After them!" Twenty miles on their way, and still ten men rode with Norton as he topped a crest and swung down toward a dipping bowl of bottom-land, strewn with canebrakes. Even as he glimpsed the danger, Audubon shouted: "'Ware, Norton! They've fired the canes!"