The pursuit went through us strung out, scattered, as disorganized as our own flight.  They were practically over us and gone when, as I rode to the right flank of the remaining splinter of my little company, I saw, riding down upon us, a splendid soldier, almost alone, and apparently endeavoring to reach his command after some delay at the rear.  He was mounted on a fine horse—­a great black animal.  His tall figure was clad in the gray uniform of the Confederates, with a black hat sweeping back from his forehead.  He wore cavalry boots and deep gauntleted gloves, and in all made a gallant martial figure as he rode.  A few of our men, half witless with their terror, crossed his path.  I saw him half rise, once, twice, four times, standing in the stirrups to enforce his saber cuts, each one of which dropped a man.  He and his horse moved together, a splendid engine of ruthless, butchery.

“Look out, Cap!” I heard a squeaking voice behind me call, and looking down, I saw one of my men, his left arm hanging loose, resting his gun across a log with his right.  “Git out ’o the way,” he repeated.  “I’m goin’ to kill him.”  It was that new-made warrior, Andrew Jackson McGovern, who had drifted back into our valley from some place, and joined my company soon after its organization.  I ordered the boy now to drop his gun.  “Leave him alone!” I cried.  “He belongs to me.”

It was Gordon Orme.  At last, fate had relented for me.  My enemy was at hand.  No man but Orme could thus ride my old horse, Satan.  Now I saw where the horse had gone, and who it was that owned him, and why Orme was here.

I rode out to meet him.  The keenness of the coming, encounter for the time almost caused me to forget my anger.  I seem never to have thought but that fate had brought me there for that one purpose.  He saw me advance, and whirled in my direction, eager as myself; and presently I saw also that he recognized me, as I did him.

This is to be said of Gordon Orme, that he feared no man or thing on earth.  He smiled at me now, showing his long, narrow teeth, as he came, lightly twirling his long blade.  Two pistols lay in my holsters, and both were freshly loaded, but without thought I had drawn my sword for a weapon, I suppose because he was using his.  He was a master of the sword, I but a beginner with it.

We rode straight in, and I heard the whistle of his blade as he circled it about his head like a band of light.  As we joined he made a cut to the left, easily, gently, as he leaned forward; but it came with such swiftness that had it landed I doubt not my neck would have been shorn like a robin’s.  But at least I could ride as well as he or any other man.  I dropped and swerved, pulling out of line a few inches as we passed.  My own blow, back-handed, was fruitless as his.