nothing of it, for he was gazing straight before him with a set
and stony face. Those who followed him looked at one another,
and the same thought was in the mind of each - how long would it
be before those who pursued would close the distance between them?

When that happened it meant death to one and all.

They reached the crest of the hill, and down they dashed upon
the other side; for there the road was smooth and level as it
sloped away into the valley, but it was in dead silence that
they rode. Now and then those who followed the Baron looked back
over their shoulders. They had gained a mile upon their pursuers
when the helmeted heads rose above the crest of the mountain,
but what was the gain of a mile with a smooth road between them,
and fresh horses to weary ones?

On they rode and on they rode. The sun rose higher and higher,
and hotter and hotter. There was no time to rest and water their
panting horses. Only once, when they crossed a shallow stretch
of water, the poor animals bent their heads and caught a few
gulps from the cool stream, and the One-eyed Hans washed a part
of the soot from his hands and face. On and on they rode; never
once did the Baron Conrad move his head or alter that steadfast
look as, gazing straight before him, he rode steadily forward
along the endless stretch of road, with poor little Otto's
yellow head and white face resting against his steel-clad
shoulder - and St. Michaelsburg still eight leagues away.

A little rise of ground lay before them, and as they climbed it,
all, excepting the baron, turned their heads as with one accord