Soon they dropped their pace to a trot, but the trio continued to fly before them.

“They’re rattled,” said Claiborne, “and the fog isn’t helping them any.”

“We’re getting close to my place,” said Armitage; and as he spoke two shots fired in rapid succession cracked faintly through the fog and they jerked up their horses.

“It’s Oscar!  He’s a good way ahead, if I judge the shots right.”

“If he turns them back we ought to hear their horses in a moment,” observed Claiborne.  “The fog muffles sounds.  The road’s pretty level in here.”

“We must get them out of it and into my territory for safety.  We’re within a mile of the gate and we ought to be able to crowd them into that long open strip where the fences are down.  Damn the fog!”

The agreed signal of two shots reached them again, but clearer, like drum-taps, and was immediately answered by scattering shots.  A moment later, as the two riders moved forward at a walk, a sharp volley rang out quite clearly and they heard shouts and the crack of revolvers again.

“By George!  They’re coming—­here we go!”

They put their horses to the gallop and rode swiftly through the fog.  The beat of hoofs was now perfectly audible ahead of them, and they heard, quite distinctly, a single revolver snap twice.

“Oscar has them on the run—­bully for Oscar!  They’re getting close—­thank the Lord for this level stretch—­now howl and let ’er go!”

They went forward with a yell that broke weirdly and chokingly on the gray cloak of fog, their horses’ hoofs pounding dully on the earthen road.  The rain had almost ceased, but enough had fallen to soften the ground.

“They’re terribly brave or horribly seared, from their speed,” shouted Claiborne.  “Now for it!”

They rose in their stirrups and charged, yelling lustily, riding neck and neck toward the unseen foe, and with their horses at their highest pace they broke upon the mounted trio that now rode upon them grayly out of the mist.

There was a mad snorting and shrinking of horses.  One of the animals turned and tried to bolt, and his rider, struggling to control him, added to the confusion.  The fog shut them in with each other; and Armitage and Claiborne, having flung back their own horses at the onset, had an instant’s glimpse of Chauvenet trying to swing his horse into the road; of Zmai half-turning, as his horse reared, to listen for the foe behind; and of Durand’s impassive white face as he steadied his horse with his left hand and leveled a revolver at Armitage with his right.

With a cry Claiborne put spurs to his horse and drove him forward upon Durand.  His hand knocked the leveled revolver flying into the fog.  Then Zmai fired twice, and Chauvenet’s frightened horse, panic-stricken at the shots, reared, swung round and dashed back the way he had come, and Durand and Zmai followed.

The three disappeared into the mist, and Armitage and Claiborne shook themselves together and quieted their horses.