Dawn fought with night and slowly conquered as Dan in the great motor panted upwards from Middlecott to the high lands above. His way led through dense woods, and the blaze of the lamp threw a cone of light far ahead, while the wheels beneath him turned silently and swiftly over a carpet of pine needles under the darkness, or jolted over the tree roots that spread in ridges across the way. To the east a cold pallor stole between the regiments of trunks, but as yet no bird called or diurnal beast moved from its holt. In the earth as he drove along, Dan could mark the fresh imprint of hoofs upon the ground, stamped darkly there. The gate at the end of the wood hung open as the horseman had left it, and Sweetland perceived that his master was in the right. Now, chafed by the sweet cold air, his black face burned and his blood leapt at his heart. But anger it was that heated him. The trust and friendship and honest love of a lifetime were turned in these terrible moments to hatred. As he leapt forward and altered his gear for Light began to gather in the sky, and Dan was glad, for in five minutes more he would be upon the waste land and must make his effort. From the Moor gate to Johnny Beer’s publichouse Sim, it seemed, had not counted upon such swift pursuit. By shutting the gates behind him, he had much improved his own chances, but all stood ajar save one, and Sweetland’s hope was so much the higher. Now out on the high Moor, no further obstacles could be met with. The surface was good, the road wide, and it was unlikely that any vehicle would share the way with him or be passed, either going or approaching. Ponies or sheep might, indeed, interrupt him, but he trusted to his Dan set the powerful machine at work in earnest, and he felt it gather itself together beneath him, like a living thing, hum like a hive of bees, and leap forward with accelerated speed. The road, glimmering in dawn light, seemed a shining white ribbon that was wound up by the car as it flew onwards. There came a sensation that he sat upon a huge, busy, but motionless monster that was swallowing the track. The roadway poured under his wheels like a river; the Moor to right and left wound away like mighty wheels whose axes were on the horizon. Though Dan drove the five miles in rather less than five minutes, the time to him seemed very long. Twice he was in peril, and twice escaped death by a shade. At a steep hill, where it became absolutely necessary to slow down, he put on pace again too soon while yet fifty yards of the declivity remained to be run. But the car responded quicker than he expected, and on a little bridge, which spanned the bottom of the coomb and crossed a stream, his right fore-wheel actually touched the parapet and the hub of the wheel struck a splinter from the granite, which shot upward like a bullet and tore Dan’s elbow to the bone. Half a minute more and the Warren Inn came into sight, while, at the same moment, Daniel saw a horse galloping hard three Wild monsters both the men looked now, but Sweetland’s guise was the strangest. His shirt had blown open, his hat was off. A breast ivory white supported his ink-black neck and face. A sleeve had been torn away as he leapt out of the car, and from a white arm extended a black hand dripping blood. The blow at the bridge he had not felt, but the man’s arm was deeply wounded and now gore freely dripped from the injury. In his hand he carried the front bar of the motor-car, which had come off. Henry Vivian’s pistol was still in his pocket, but he had forgotten it. The way now led downhill, and little more than ten seconds had elapsed before Daniel reached the door of his home. It was shut, but he threw himself against it and the latch broke. Then he stood in the kitchen of the cottage and saw Sim with Minnie on her knees at his feet. Titus was bending over her, and he had one hand on her hair dragging back her head. The other hand held a jack-knife to his mouth, and he opened this weapon with his teeth as Sweetland sprang in upon him. Sim’s hand went back for the blow, but it was not delivered. Instead, his arm was pinned to his Both men were powerful, but both were spent. Sweetland had lost much blood from his elbow, and he found himself growing weak. Titus had fared better, though he too blew hard after a half-mile run. He had come to kill Minnie Sweetland; now he exulted and worked to tire out the other. The knife had fallen out of his hand, but as Minnie rushed to reach it from him, Sim put his foot upon it. “So much the better!” he cried, going down easily as Daniel threw him. “Do what you like—go on—you’re bleeding to death! But Death’s self sha’n’t cheat me of you. Your death’s my—” He spoke no more, for Sweetland was now quite aware that only moments separated him from falling. He was growing weak fast, and his head swam. He knew that he must strike, and strike with every atom of strength that remained to him, or he would drop unconscious and leave his wife to her fate. For a moment he relaxed his hold, and as he did so Sim’s arm shot out and he grasped his knife. Then a strange thing happened, for the watching woman, who had disregarded Daniel’s order to fly and escape, flung herself straight between “God’s life! Why for did you do that?” cried Dan. “Oh—your little arm—Minnie—Minnie!” “’Tis only broke,” she said. “That’s naught. I saw you were going to kill him. ’Twould have wasted all my work for ’e, husband, an’ spoilt all the time to come. You be free afore the world, an’ innocent afore the world. I can prove it, Dan. I can prove it!” For answer his head rolled back and he fell forward from his knees to the ground. She stood above the two unconscious men, herself tottering and powerless to help either. Then it was that Beer, in the lightest of “Give me something to drink—spirits. I shall be all right in an hour. You was right, Min. ’Twould have been a poor home-coming to kill this devil. But your arm—that awful sound.” “You go,” said Johnny to his wife. “Get a bottle of brandy and nip back as quick as lightning. And call the boy at the same time an’ tell him to saddle the pony an’ ride like hell for Dr Budd. This chap’s dead, I’m thinking.” He spoke of Sim, who had not recovered consciousness. “What May games be these, Dan Sweetland?” asked Mr Beer. Dan, however, had no leisure for Johnny. He lay quite still and fought to keep consciousness. “Us can’t wait for Sim,” he said; “Minnie’s more than this here man. After I’ve took in a tumbler of spirits, I’ll stand up again and get to the car. Then I’ll drive her straight to the cottage hospital and come back for Sim. He’s not dead. ’Twas that li’l broken arm there saved him.” “A masterpiece you be, sure enough! Black, an’ blue, an’ bloody; an’ yet the real old Dan Sweetland, an’ no other! Let me see your elbow again. Yes, it have done bleeding now.” “Don’t trouble about me,” said Dan. “Listen to his chest an’ see if you can hear his heart beating. Ban’t no odds if I’ve killed him; for if I hadn’t done it, he’d have killed me an’ my wife too. A near shave, by God! He had her by the hair an’ thicky pig-sticking knife between his teeth.” “However comed you to let him in after last night, my dear?” asked Johnny. “I was on the watch,” she answered. “I seed a man with a black face running through the dawnlight, an’ I didn’t stop to think, but rushed to the door an’ flinged it open for him. He was on me like a tiger, an’ I thought ’twas all over when my husband leapt at him.” “A brave day’s doings,” said Mr Beer. “Matter for a book of verses, if you only get well again, Daniel.” As he spoke he put his ear to the breast of Titus Sim, and the others waited in silence. “There’s something going on,” pronounced the publican. “The works be moving—no doubt ’tis the organ of his heart. But it don’t Mrs Beer returned. She had run all the way, and could not speak for a time. Daniel drank the spirits like a sailor; then Minnie was made to take a little, but not until it had been attempted to get some down the throat of Sim. This, however, proved impossible. “I’d take him with us in the car,” said Sweetland, “but ’twill be all I can do to get to it myself. The doctor may look after him. Now, if you give me an arm, Johnny, I’ll make shift to walk to the road.” Mrs Beer remained by the senseless footman, and her husband supported Daniel to the motor. Minnie followed them. She was suffering great agony, but made no sound. Once, midway between the cottage and the road, Daniel sat down to rest and drank more brandy; then he reached the motor and mounted it. Minnie climbed by his side, and the car was turned slowly round. Dan now felt better, and refused Johnny Beer’s offer to accompany him. “I be right now,” he answered. “You go back to that devil in my house, an’ save his filthy life, if you can.” Half way to Moreton, Daniel passed the doctor hastening on horseback to Hangman’s Hut. The medical man stopped a moment, directed Minnie how to place her arm that her pain might be lessened, and then rode forward again. The husband and wife hardly spoke upon the journey into Moretonhampstead, and it was Minnie’s turn to succumb as the grey, snug shelter of the cottage hospital came before her eyes. A minute later she was carried out of the car, and within an hour her broken arm had been set, and she found herself in a comfortable bed with kind hands busy for her. In the afternoon of that day Daniel, who had slept for six hours and taken plenty of useful nourishment, came to spend a little while with his wife. He found her light-headed, and only stopped five minutes. He felt the greatest alarm, but those in attendance on the case assured him there was no need to do so. Next morning Minnie was better, and Daniel’s visit went far to restore the even tenor of her mind and customary, patient self-control. “They brought Sim here last night,” he said. “Mr Vivian went up himself and fetched the |