He was turning impatiently away from the window when his eye caught sight of a straggling file of Chinamen breasting the storm on their way up the hill.  A sudden idea seized him.  Perhaps they were the spies in question.  He remembered the driver’s story.  A sudden flash of intuition made him now understand the singular way the file of coolies which they met had diverted their course after passing the wagon.  They had recognized the deputy on the box.  Stay!—­there was another Chinaman in the coach; he might have given them the signal.  He glanced hurriedly around the room for him; he was gone.  Perhaps he had already joined the file he had just seen.  His only hope was to follow them—­but how? and how to do it quietly?  The afternoon was waning; it would be three or four hours before the down coach would arrive, from which the driver expected assistance.  Now, if ever, was his opportunity.

He made his way through the back door, and found himself among the straw and chips of the stable-yard and woodshed.  Still uncertain what to do, he mechanically passed before the long shed which served as temporary stalls for the steaming wagon horses.  At the further end, to his surprise, was a tethered mustang ready saddled and bridled—­the opportune horse left for the fugitive, according to the lounger’s story.  Masterton cast a quick glance around the stable; it was deserted by all save the feeding animals.

He was new to adventures of this kind, or he would probably have weighed the possibilities and consequences.  He was ordinarily a thoughtful, reflective man, but like most men of intellect, he was also imaginative and superstitious, and this crowning accident of the providential situation in which he found himself was superior to his logic.  There would also be a grim irony in his taking this horse for such a purpose.  He again looked and listened.  There was no one within sight or hearing.  He untied the rope from the bit-ring, leaped into the saddle, and emerged cautiously from the shed.  The wet snow muffled the sound of the horse’s hoofs.  Moving round to the rear of the stable so as to bring it between himself and the station, he clapped his heels into the mustang’s flanks and dashed into the open.

At first he was confused and bewildered by the half hidden boulders and snow-shrouded bushes that beset the broken ground, and dazzled by the still driving storm.  But he knew that they would also divert attention from his flight, and beyond, he could now see a white slope slowly rising before him, near whose crest a few dark spots were crawling in file, like Alpine climbers.  They were the Chinamen he was seeking.  He had reasoned that when they discovered they were followed they would, in the absence of any chance of signaling through the storm, detach one of their number to give the alarm.  Him he would follow.  He felt his revolver safe on his hip; he would use it only if necessary to intimidate the spies.