ered some five-and-twenty miles when Sapt abruptly stopped.
"Hark!" he cried.
I listened. Away, far behind us, in the still of the evening—it was just half-past nine—we heard the beat of horses' hoofs. The wind, blowing strong behind us, carried the sound. I glanced at Sapt.
"Come on!" he cried, and spurred his horse into a gallop. When we next paused to listen the hoof-beats were not audible, and we relaxed our pace. Then we heard them again. Sapt jumped down and laid his ear to the ground.
"There are two," he said. "They're only a mile behind. Thank God, the road curves in and out, and the wind's our way."
We galloped on. We seemed to be holding our own. We had entered the outskirts of the forest of Zenda, and the trees, closing in behind us as the track zigged and zagged, prevented us seeing our pursuers, and them from seeing us.
Another half hour brought us to a divide of the road. Sapt drew rein.
