could barely reach his destination by nightfall, for the rain showed no
signs of abating, and there were still several streams to be crossed.

His blood leaped no more so nimbly along his veins; the continued
exposure had at last chilled and benumbed him. Letting the reins fall
upon Roger's neck, he folded himself closely in his wet cloak, and bore
the weather with a grim, patient endurance. The road dropped into a
rough glen, crossed a stony brook, and then wound along the side of a
thickly wooded hill. On his right the bank had been cut away like a
wall; on the left a steep slope of tangled thicket descended to the
stream.

One moment, Gilbert knew that he was riding along this road, Roger
pressing close to the bank for shelter from the wind and rain; the next,
there was a swift and tremendous grip on his collar, Roger slid from
under him, and he was hurled backwards, with great force, upon the
ground. Yet even in the act of falling, he seemed to be conscious that a
figure sprang down upon the road from the bank above.

It was some seconds before the shock, which sent a crash through his
brain and a thousand fiery sparkles into his eyes, passed away. Then a
voice, keen, sharp, and determined, which it seemed that he knew,
exclaimed,--

"Damn the beast! I'll have to shoot him."

Lifting his head with some difficulty, for he felt weak and giddy, and
propping himself on his arm, he saw Sandy Flash in the road, three or
four paces off, fronting Roger, who had whirled around, and with
levelled ears and fiery eyes, seemed to be meditating an attack.