He had foreseen his greatest danger--of being caught in thick underbrush and surrounded--so he kept to the main path, only leaving it for a smaller and more tortuous one, when the other turned down the mountain toward the road again. Since the exchange of shots his pursuers had become more cautious and when they reached the fork of the paths they stopped, sweating in their heavy coats and cursing lustily, while they debated upon the question as to which path he had taken. The hounds were at fault. From a point above, he could see them quite clearly and one of them was the Fatalist who had been his jailor last evening. Just to discover whether he was sincere in his philosophy, Hammersley sent a bullet skipping above his head. He ducked and Hammersley laughed. “Silly ass!” he muttered. “Fatalist! Fatality if I’d aimed at him!” And he was off again, for other men had joined the leaders and the scent was hot. He carried them fast, up to the bald top of the mountain where the going was faster, and down in the valley to the right. They had gained nothing on him and Hammersley with his second wind was breathing more easily, but it was almost time to double. Here was as good a place as another for the pack of them to spend the afternoon and he made up his mind to lose them without further ado. There was only one runner in the lot and he was the Fatalist, though how he had ever happened to learn to run in the Imperial Navy, Hammersley had not the time or inclination to decide. If his philosophy limped, his legs at least were strong and he came on rapidly leaping like a young buck toward the opening over the crest of the knob into which Hammersley had disappeared. A short way down was a spur of rock, the beginnings of a ridge which cut out into the hills, the watershed of two rills which leaped from rock to rock to the valleys below. Hammersley chose the right-hand valley for the going was better, and went down it at top speed for a quarter of a mile or more, pausing where the path led into the underbrush and pines until the Fatalist should view him when he disappeared, and then turning into the thicket circled quickly to the left, and taking advantage of every cover, slowly and carefully climbed the ridge to a place of vantage where he crouched and waited, to have the satisfaction a moment later of seeing his ex-jailor, weapon in hand, go plunging down the path past his place of concealment.