"Does this include my friends?" he asked, nodding toward the Isthmian
men.

"You can pass them off as your servants," I answered, and he smiled
grimly.

The men had formed around the gun, and it was being pushed toward me,
but as I turned to meet it I was again halted, this time by young
Fiske, who rode his horse in front of mine, and held out his hand.

"You must shake hands with me!" he cried, "I acted like a cad." He
bent forward, raising his other arm to shield his face from the storm.
"I say, I acted like a cad," he shouted, "and I ask your pardon."

I took his hand and nodded. At the same moment as we held each other's
hands the window of the carriage was pushed down and his sister leaned
out and beckoned to me. Her face, beaten by the rain, and with her
hair blown across it, was filled with distress.

"I want to thank you," she cried. "Thank you," she repeated, "for my
brother. I thank you. I wanted you to know."

She stretched out her hand and I took it, and released it instantly,
and as she withdrew her face from the window of the carriage, I dug my
spurs into my pony and galloped on with the gun.

What followed is all confused.

I remember that we reached the third and last post just after the men
had abandoned it, but that we overtook them, and with them fought our