The horseman might be an inoffensive traveler; on the other
hand, he might not. It was best to leave nothing to chance. With a cheery
word, to give the ladies confidence, he lashed at the horses and forced
the carriage on at a pace that put its clumsy springs to a severe test.
Fortunately the road was straight, and the horses instinctively kept to
the middle of the track. But fast as they were now going, Desmond felt
that if the horseman was indeed pursuing he would soon be overtaken. He
must be prepared for the worst. Gripping the reins hard with his left
hand, he dropped the whip for a moment and felt in the box below the seat
in the hope of finding a pistol; but it was empty.
He whistled under his breath at the discovery: if the pursuer was a
"gentleman of the road" his predicament was indeed awkward. The carriage
was rumbling and rattling so noisily that he had long since lost the
sound of the horse's hoofs behind. He could not pause to learn if the
pursuit had ceased; his only course was to drive on. Surely he would soon
reach the edge of the heath; there would be houses; every few yards must
bring him nearer to the possibility of obtaining help. Thus thinking, he
clenched his teeth and lashed the reeking flanks of the horses, which
plunged along now at a mad gallop.
Suddenly, above the noise of their hoofs and the rattling of the coach he
heard an angry shout. A scream came from the ladies. Heeding neither,
Desmond quickly reversed his whip, holding it halfway down the long
handle, with the heavy iron-tipped stock outward.
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