Grabbing up the lines and the whip, with one movement he plied the lash and the startled horses leaped madly away. The policeman was close behind Nick, more than anxious to help undo the evil results of his mistake. He was athletic enough, and he grabbed at the carriage as it started, rested one foot on the turning hub, and gained the box. “We’ll get him,” he said. “Let me use the whip and you do the driving.” The horses tore away at a mad gallop, the officer slapping them right and left. Pedestrians scampered in every direction, but, owing to Nick’s skillful handling of the lines, no one was injured. Nick did not think he could overtake the fugitive, but he knew that something would happen to the fellow, and he wanted to be near enough to see that he did not escape, in case of accident or other misadventure. Suddenly a mounted officer appeared in the roadway directly ahead of Ramsay. Taking in the situation, the officer turned his horse across the road and drew a gun. “Halt!” he cried. Ramsay halted, but he did not surrender. Owing to the nature of the ground on each side of the driveway he could not turn from the road, so he whirled the horse sharply and started full tilt in the direction of the carriage. Nick divined his object. He counted on passing the carriage and making off in the other direction--a desperate expedient at best. In order to keep those on the carriage seat from shooting him, Ramsay leaned down and shielded the upper part of his body behind the horse’s neck. “I’ll have him now,” muttered Nick, pulling the carriage team to a halt. “Officer, take the lines.” The officer took them, and Nick made ready for a spring. On came the horse at a gallop, heading to pass within a few feet of the carriage, on Nick’s side. The detective watched his chances, and, when the right moment had arrived, hurled himself outward and downward, grabbing the horse’s bits. The weight on its head brought the animal to an abrupt stop--so abrupt that Ramsay was thrown from the saddle into the road. Before he could rise, Nick was on top of him, pinning him down. Ramsay, in spite of the handcuffs, had drawn a revolver from a breast pocket, and Nick jerked it out of his hand. “Don’t be a fool,” said Nick. “You might have been killed!” An oath was Ramsay’s only response. Nick, groping about under the frock coat, found another revolver in his prisoner’s hip pocket and a knife and sheath in the breast pocket. Both weapons he abstracted and threw to the policeman who had jumped down, caught his horse, and was standing near, ready to lend a hand in case help was needed. But Nick did not require assistance. “It’s up to you, Carter,” said Ramsay. “You’ve got me and I cave.” “Get up, then.” Nick got off the fellow’s prostrate form, thrusting a hand through his arm. The policeman picked up Ramsay’s hat and put it on his head, and Nick marched his man over to where Chick and Patsy were holding Gillman and Starlick.