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“Tied–tied!” was the shout; “they’ve got to try it again! they’ve got to try it again!”

The Hon. Sam rose, with his watch in one hand and stilling the tumult with the other. Dead silence came at once.

“I fear me,” he said, “that the good knight, the Discarded, has failed to make the course in the time required by the laws of the tournament.” Bedlam broke loose again and the Hon. Sam waited, still gesturing for silence.

“Summon the time-keeper!” he said.

The time-keeper appeared from the middle of the field and nodded.

“Eight seconds!” “The Knight of the Cumberland wins,” said the Hon. Sam.

The little sister, unconscious of her own sad face, nudged me to look at the Blight–there were tears in her eyes.

Before the grandstand the knights slowly drew up again. Marston’s horse was so lame and tired that he dismounted and let a darky boy lead him under the shade of the trees. But he stood on foot among the other knights, his arms folded, worn out and vanquished, but taking his bitter medicine like a man. I thought the Blight’s eyes looked pityingly upon him.

The Hon. Sam arose with a crown of laurel leaves in his hand:

“You have fairly and gallantly won, Sir Knight of the Cumberland, and it is now your right to claim and receive from the hands of the Queen of Love and Beauty the chaplet of honor which your skill has justly deserved. Advance, Sir Knight of the Cumberland, and dismount!”

The Knight of the Cumberland made no move nor sound.

“Get off yo’ hoss, son,” said the Hon. Sam kindly, “and get down on yo’ knees at the feet of them steps. This fair young Queen is a-goin’ to put this chaplet on your shinin’ brow. That horse’ll stand.”

The Knight of the Cumberland, after a moment’s hesitation, threw his leg over the saddle and came to the steps with a slouching gait and looking about him right and left. The Blight, blushing prettily, took the chaplet and went down the steps to meet him.

“Unmask!” I shouted.

“Yes, son,” said the Hon. Sam, “take that rag off.”

Then Mollie’s voice, clear and loud, startled the crowd. “You better not, Dave Branham, fer if you do and this other gal puts that thing on you, you’ll never–” What penalty she was going to inflict, I don’t know, for the Knight of the Cumberland, half kneeling, sprang suddenly to his feet and interrupted her. “Wait a minute, will ye?” he said almost fiercely, and at the sound of his voice Mollie rose to her feet and her face blanched.

“Lord God!” she said almost in anguish, and then she dropped quickly to her seat again.

The Knight of the Cumberland had gone back to his horse as though to get something from his saddle. Like lightning he vaulted into the saddle, and as the black horse sprang toward the opening tore his mask from his face, turned in his stirrups, and brandished his spear with a yell of defiance, while a dozen voices shouted:

“The Wild Dog!” Then was there an uproar.

“Goddle mighty!” shouted the Hon. Sam. “I didn’t do it, I swear I didn’t know it. He’s tricked me–he’s tricked me! Don’t shoot–you might hit that hoss!”

There was no doubt about the Hon. Sam’s innocence. Instead of turning over an outlaw to the police, he had brought him into the inner shrine of law and order and he knew what a political asset for his enemies that insult would be. And there was no doubt of the innocence of Mollie and Buck as they stood, Mollie wringing her hands and Buck with open mouth and startled face. There was no doubt about the innocence of anybody other than Dave Branham and the dare-devil Knight of the Cumberland.

Marston had clutched at the Wild Dog’s bridle and missed and the outlaw struck savagely at him with his spear. Nobody dared to shoot because of the scattering crowd, but every knight and every mounted policeman took out after the outlaw and the beating of hoofs pounded over the little mound and toward Poplar Hill. Marston ran to his horse at the upper end, threw his saddle on, and hesitated–there were enough after the Wild Dog and his horse was blown. He listened to the yells and sounds of the chase encircling Poplar Hill. The outlaw was making for Lee. All at once the yells and hoof-beats seemed to sound nearer and Marston listened, astonished. The Wild Dog had wheeled and was coming back; he was going to make for the Gap, where sure safety lay. Marston buckled his girth and as he sprang on his horse, unconsciously taking his spear with him, the Wild Dog dashed from the trees at the far end of the field. As Marston started the Wild Dog saw him, pulled something that flashed from under his coat of mail, thrust it back again, and brandishing his spear, he came, full speed and yelling, up the middle of the field. It was a strange thing to happen in these modern days, but Marston was an officer of the law and was between the Wild Dog and the Ford and liberty through the Gap, into the hills. The Wild Dog was an outlaw. It was Marston’s duty to take him.