"Hilton's hanging on to him." Payne made no answer, and the sound that rang more loudly every moment through the grayness of the early daylight was not pleasant to hear.
Man's vitality is near its lowest about that hour, and the troopers had ridden furiously the long night through, while one of them, who knew Lance Courthorne, surmised that there was grim work before him.

Still, though he shivered as a little chilly wind shook the birch twigs, he set his lips, and once more remembered the comrade who had ridden far and kept many a lonely vigil with him.
Then a mounted man appeared in the space between the trees.

His horse was jaded, and he rode loosely, swaying once or twice in his saddle, but he came straight on, and there was a jingle and rattle as the troopers swung out into the trail.

The man saw them, for he glanced over his shoulder, as if at the rider who appeared behind, and then sent the spurs in again.
"Pull him up," cried Corporal Payne, and his voice was a little strained.

"Stop right where you are before we fire on you!" The man must have seen the carbines, for he raised himself a trifle, and Payne saw his face under the flapping hat.