The moon was shining at intervals, for the night was partially clouded.  There seemed to be nobody stirring, though his attention was unusually awake, and he could hear the whirr of the bats overhead, and the pulsating croak of the frogs in the distant pools and marshes.  Presently he detected the sound of hoofs at some distance, and, looking forward, saw a horseman coming in his direction.  The moon was under a cloud at the moment, and he could only observe that the horse and his rider looked like a single dark object, and that they were moving along at an easy pace.  Mr. Bernard was really ashamed of himself, when he found his hand on the butt of his pistol.  When the horseman was within a hundred and fifty yards of him, the moon shone out suddenly and revealed each of them to the other.  The rider paused for a moment, as if carefully surveying the pedestrian, then suddenly put his horse to the full gallop, and dashed towards him, rising at the same instant in his stirrups and swinging something round his head, what, Mr. Bernard could not make out.  It was a strange manoeuvre,—­so strange and threatening in aspect that the young man forgot his nervousness in an instant, cocked his pistol, and waited to see what mischief all this meant.  He did not wait long.  As the rider came rushing towards him, he made a rapid motion and something leaped five-and-twenty feet through the air, in Mr. Bernard’s direction.  In an instant he felt a ring, as of a rope or thong, settle upon his shoulders.  There was no time to think, he would be lost in another second.  He raised his pistol and fired,—­not at the rider, but at the horse.  His aim was true; the mustang gave one bound and fell lifeless, shot through the head.  The lasso was fastened to his saddle, and his last bound threw Mr. Bernard violently to the earth, where he lay motionless, as if stunned.

In the mean time, Dick Venner, who had been dashed down with his horse, was trying to extricate himself,—­one of his legs being held fast under the animal, the long spur on his boot having caught in the saddle-cloth.  He found, however, that he could do nothing with his right arm, his shoulder having been in some way injured in his fall.  But his Southern blood was up, and, as he saw Mr. Bernard move as if he were coming to his senses, he struggled violently to free himself.

“I ’ll have the dog, yet,” he said,—­“only let me get at him with the knife!”

He had just succeeded in extricating his imprisoned leg, and was ready to spring to his feet, when he was caught firmly by the throat, and looking up, saw a clumsy barbed weapon, commonly known as a hay fork, within an inch of his breast.

“Hold on there!  What ’n thunder ‘r’ y’ abaout, y’ darned Portagee?” said a voice, with a decided nasal tone in it, but sharp and resolute.

Dick looked from the weapon to the person who held it, and saw a sturdy, plain man standing over him, with his teeth clinched, and his aspect that of one all ready for mischief.