Alan was far from being out of the wood, there was danger on every side, and it was light. Fortune favored him, for the enemy had suffered terrible losses and were occupied in beating a hasty retreat, what was left of them. The ground was covered with dead, dying, and wounded. As he rode rapidly to the right he got clear of them; several shots were fired and missed him.

A feeling of exultation possessed him as he neared his lines a couple of miles away. Once there he was safe, his perilous mission accomplished.

His horse shied. Looking ahead he saw half a dozen forms hidden behind some stunted bushes. The enemy again. Rifles were pointed at him. It meant death if he went on.

He halted and faced his enemies, but showed no signs of giving in. The men crept forward, still covering him with their rifles. He was angry at the thought of being taken prisoner again. If recognized he would be shot off-hand. This was not at all likely although he was not aware of it.

Providence intervened in the shape of a shell which hurtled into the midst of the creeping men. There was a terrific explosion. Alan reeled in the saddle, recovered by a great effort, and managed to control his frightened horse. He was struck on the forehead but fortunately the peak of his cap saved him. Still the effect was stunning, stupefying. A whistling in the air and another shell burst, throwing up a cloud of mud and dirt round him, thus lessening the danger of being badly hit.

His enemies were cut up, shattered; but he had to ride for his life to avoid the shells. He was in danger from his friends.

The horse was equal to the emergency and sped across the open space at a great pace.

The solitary horseman seemed to puzzle the gunners, for they ceased firing. Probably he had been recognized as an officer escaping from the enemy.

He waved his cap and, taking all risks, galloped toward the Allies' lines. He knew where he was now. These trenches were the nearest to headquarters and in a few minutes he would be in safety.

Something trickled down his face. He brushed it aside with his hand—blood—his wound was more serious than he thought.

His left arm pained—blood on the sleeve. His left thigh twinged sharply—there was blood here also.

"Must have had a narrow squeak," he thought. He felt faint, inclined to swoon, but held on to his horse firmly.

His head swam, his sight grew dim, he heard a roar from the front trench and then—oblivion.

When he came to he was being attended behind the firing line. He wondered where he was, and tried to sit up, but fell back exhausted. The doctor told him to keep still.

He slept several hours. When he awoke he was in the ambulance, jolting farther away from the line.

It was twenty-four hours or more before he was able to stand. Once on his legs he quickly recovered and, asking for his horse, which was near at hand, declared his intention of riding to headquarters.

The doctor protested; but when Alan explained who he was and the nature of his mission no further objections were raised.

"You have had a marvelous escape," said the doctor, looking at him admiringly. "You are a brave man."

Alan smiled as he thanked him, saying there would have been many officers who would have been glad of the chance to take his place and run the risks.

He rode to headquarters and was heartily welcomed. In a few moments he stood before his chief, who held out his hand, shook his heartily, and congratulated him.

It was then Alan learned it had been reported that he was shot in Bruges as a spy. No doubt this report had been made in order to save the men responsible for his escape through the lines.

"Shot as a spy," thought Alan. "I wonder if it has been made public in
England. If so, what a terrible shock to Eve and all my friends."

He suppressed his feelings and gave an account of how he fulfilled his mission.

"You must see King Albert at once," said the chief. "It was a blow to him when he heard you were shot."

The news of Captain Chesney's return was soon noised abroad, and on all sides he was congratulated.

He hunted up Skane's letter and found the date of the Trent Park Grand Steeplechase would give him ample time to get home and ride Bandmaster over the course two or three times. He must see about his leave at once.

He supposed his safe arrival would be at once reported at home and that
Eve would see it and others.

There was a budget of letters for him some six weeks old. One of the last he opened came from his trainer. The date of the Steeplechase had been altered because the troops camped in the Park had left earlier than was expected.

Alan was uncertain about the date. He asked, and found he had just a couple of days to spare to get there in time.

Then came another thought which made him gasp. Had Bandmaster been struck out when he was reported shot?

Every minute was precious.

He wired to Skane at once, imposing secrecy, and asking it Bandmaster was still in the race. If so he would be home to ride.

"Not a word about this."

Fred Skane had not scratched Bandmaster. He would not believe Alan Chesney had been shot, and this firm conviction cheered Eve Berkeley wonderfully. Then came the news that Captain Chesney had returned to headquarters after many hairbreadth escapes and that he was severely wounded.

The reaction set in at Trent Park, The Forest, and Little Trent. Gloom turned to joy; everybody was gay and festive. Captain Chesney was safe, he would soon recover from a few wounds, these were trifles to a brave strong man.

"There you are," said Fred Skane. "What did I tell you, Miss Berkeley. I knew he was not shot—not likely. Supposing I'd scratched Bandmaster—there'd have been a row and no mistake. 'Scratch the horse out of respect,' says Abel Head. 'Memory,' says I, 'what memory? He's alive. There's no memory about Captain Chesney yet, I'll bet, or I'm a Dutchman.'"

Eve laughed.

"Splendid, Fred, splendid! You were right; we were all wrong. But he was reported shot."

"Reported be——" said Fred, checking himself. "Who believes reports? Not me! We get too much or too little, and it came from a German source; not good enough, says I, not half good enough for this child."

When the trainer received Alan's telegram he chuckled, then laughed heartily.

"By Jove, this is grand! Won't there be a double distilled surprise for 'em all. If he can get home—if? He must!—and ride, wounds or no wounds—and he'll win, I can see him doing it—what a day it will be! Not a word, not me; I wouldn't miss the shock of his appearance on the course, in an unexpected way, not for a thousand."

"Fred's a bit above himself," said Abel Head. "He's confounded cheeky because his opinion has turned out correct. I never thought Captain Chesney was shot, did you?"

"No," said Tom Thrush, "not likely."

"And Fred takes it all on himself. He goes about with his 'What did I tell you?' until I'm sick of hearing it," said Abel.

"The main thing is, the master's alive; nowt else matters," said Tom.

"Heard from Jane lately?" asked Abel.

"No; can't make it out," said Tom gloomily.

"I hope it's all right with her. You were a fool to let her marry him," said Abel.

"What's the sense in pitching that into me now?" growled Tom.

"I pitched it into you before it was too late, but you took no notice."

"Do you always follow good advice?" asked Tom.

"Maybe not, not always."

"Then dry up about me. I'm sorry, Abel, sorry for my lass; but he'd best behave well to her or he'll know about it," said Tom savagely.

"Where are they?"

"Don't know; haven't heard from her since they left Margate."

"I'll tell you another thing, Tom. It's what I've always said, Carl
Meason's a German spy and it's my belief Jane's found him out."

"If that's so and she has you can lay she'll give him away, it's her duty to do it," said Tom.

"Probably she will if he gives her a chance," was Abel's reply.

"What chance? He can't interfere with her."

"There's no telling what a man like that will do," answered Abel.

To return to Alan Chesney, he was anxious in the extreme. His wounds troubled him but he endeavored to shake off the feeling. He had no wish to be invalided at home. He wanted the change on his own account and for a particular purpose, to ride Bandmaster in the Steeplechase. He applied for leave, which was readily granted, and was ordered not to return until quite well.

He told two or three of his brother officers why he was anxious to get home and of course they were determined to have "a bet on" Bandmaster. His servant heard the news and it quickly got about among the rank and file.

A vexatious delay occurred—one of those small but important matters to be attended to at the last minute which are forever turning up at important moments.

Alan motored to Calais; and here again there was delay, no steamer being available for several hours. He fretted and fumed about. If this sort of thing continued there would be little chance of being home in time to see the race, let alone ride.

He passed a restless time but at last the boat started and he was fairly on the way. All being well he would reach Little Trent in good time on the morning of the meeting.

None of his friends knew he was coming except Fred Skane, the trainer. His brief telegram to Eve said nothing about it. She was overwhelmed with joy to hear from him that he was really safe and well.

Being a sensible woman she determined to celebrate Alan's good news by taking a large party of friends to Trent Park to see Bandmaster win. Fred Skane said to her:

"I think he'll win, but I wish Captain Chesney was here to ride him.
It would be 'a cert' then."