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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Uncle Bernac A Memory of the Empire"


How we flew down those creaking wooden stairs and out through the open
door of the mill! Quick as we were, he had a good start, and by the
time Gerard and I were in the saddle he had become a tiny man upon a
small horse galloping up the green slope of the opposite hill.
The shades of evening, too, were drawing in, and upon his left was the
huge salt-marsh, where we should have found it difficult to follow him.
The chances were certainly in his favour. And yet he never swerved from
his course, but kept straight on across the downs on a line which took
him farther and farther from the sea. Every instant we feared to see
him dart away in the morass, but still he held his horse's head against
the hill-side. What could he be making for? He never pulled rein and
never glanced round, but flew onwards, like a man with a definite goal
in view.
Lieutenant Gerard and I were lighter men, and our mounts were as good as
his, so that it was not long before we began to gain upon him. If we
could only keep him in sight it was certain that we should ride him
down; but there was always the danger that he might use his knowledge of
the country to throw us off his track.


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