and, I have no doubt, to his, although he was the indirect cause; for had he not bought Ranger, it is very unlikely that I should have become an inmate of his house.

It came about in this way. Bertie was so pleased with the result of his first speculation in horseflesh (though so far as he was concerned it was a pure fluke) that he must needs make another. If he had picked up a second cab-horse at thirty or forty pounds he could not have gone far wrong; but instead of that he must needs go to Tattersall’s and give nearly fifty for a blood mare rejoicing in the name of “Tickle-me-Quick,” described as being “the property of a gentleman,” and said to have won several country steeple-chases.

The moment I set eyes on the beast I saw she was a screw, “and vicious at that,” as an American would have said. But as she had been bought (without warranty) and paid for, I had to make the best of her. Within an hour of the mare’s arrival at Red Chimneys, I was on her back, trying her paces. She galloped well and jumped splendidly, but I feared from her ways that she would be hot with hounds, and perhaps, kick in a crowd, one of the worst faults that a hunter can possess.

On the next non-hunting day I took Tickle-me-Quick out for a long ride in the country, to see how she shaped as a hack. I little thought, as we set off, that it would prove to be her last journey, and one of the most memorable events of my life.

For a while all went well. The mare wanted riding, yet she behaved no worse than I expected, although from the way she laid her ears back and the angry tossing of her head when I made her feel the bit, she was clearly not in the best of tempers. But I kept her going; and an hour after leaving Red Chimneys we turned into a narrow deep lane between high banks, which led to Kingscote entering the road on the west side of the park at right angles, and very near Mr. Fortescue’s lodge-gates.

In the field to my right several colts were grazing, and when they caught sight of Tickle-me-Quick trotting up the lane they took it into their heads to have an impromptu race among themselves. Neighing loudly, they set off at full gallop. Without asking my leave, Tickle-me-Quick followed suit. I tried to stop her. I might as well have tried to stop an avalanche. So, making a virtue of necessity, I let her go, thinking that before she reached the top of the lane she would have had quite enough, and I should be able to pull her up without difficulty.

The colts are soon left behind; but we can hear them galloping behind us, and on goes the mare like the wind. I can now see the end of the lane, and as the great park wall, twelve feet high, looms in sight, the horrible thought flashes on my mind that unless I pull her up we shall both be dashed to pieces; for to turn a sharp corner at the speed we are going is quite out of the question.

I make another effort, sawing the mare’s mouth till it bleeds, and tightening the reins till they are fit to break.

All in vain; she puts her head down and gallops on, if possible more madly than before. Still larger looms that terrible wall; death stares me in the face, and for the first time in my life I undergo the intense agony of mortal terror.

We are now at the end of the lane. There is one chance only, and that the most desperate, of saving my life. I slip my feet from the stirrups, and when Tickle-me-Quick is within two or three strides of the wall, I drop the reins and throw myself from her back. Then all is darkness.

Chapter III.

Mr. Fortescue’s Proposal.

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“Where am I?”

I feel as if I were in a strait-jacket. One of my arms is immovable, my head is bandaged, and when I try to turn I suffer excruciating pain.

“Where am I?”

“Oh, you have wakened up!” says somebody with a foreign accent, and a dark face bends over me. The light is dim and my sight weak, and but for his grizzled mustache I might have taken the speaker for a woman, his ears being adorned with large gold rings.

“Where are you? You are in the house of Señor Fortescue.”

“And the mare?”

“The mare broke her wicked head against the park wall, and she has gone to the kennels to be eaten by the dogs.”

“Already? How long is it since?”

“It was the day before yesterday zat it happened.”

“God bless me! I must have been insensible ever since. That means concussion of the brain. Am I much damaged otherwise, do you know?”

“Pretty well. Your left shoulder is dislocated, one of your fingers and two of your ribs broken, and one of your ankles severely contused. But it might have been worse. If you had not thrown yourself from your horse, as you did, you would just now be in a coffin instead of in this comfortable bed.”

“Somebody saw me, then?”

“Yes, the lodge-keeper. He thought you were dead, and came up and told us; and we brought you here on a stretcher, and the Señor Coronel sent for a doctor—”

“The Señor Coronel! Do you mean Mr. Fortescue?”

“Yes, sir, I mean Mr. Fortescue.”

“Then you are Ramon?”

“Hijo de Dios! You know my name.”

“Yes, you are Mr. Fortescue’s body-servant.”

“Caramba! Somebody must have told you.”

“You might have made a worse guess, Señor Ramon. Will you please tell Mr. Fortescue that I thank him with all my heart for his great kindness, and that I will not trespass on it more than I can possibly help. As soon as I can be moved I shall go to my own place.”

“That will not be for a long time, and I do not think the Señor Coronel would like—But when he returns he will see you, and then you can tell him yourself.”

“He is away from home, then?”

“The Señor Coronel has gone to London. He will be back to-morrow.”

“Well, if I cannot thank him to-day, I can thank you. You are my nurse, are you not?”

“A little—Geist and I, and Mees Tomleenson, we relieve each other. But those two don’t know much about wounds.”

“And you do, I suppose?”

“Hijo de Dios! Do I know much about wounds? I have nursed men who have been cut to pieces. I have been cut to pieces myself. Look!”

And with that Ramon pointed to his neck, which was seamed all the way down with a tremendous scar; then to his left hand, which was minus two fingers; next to one of his arms, which appeared to have been plowed from wrist to elbow with a bullet; and lastly to his head, which was almost covered with cicatrices, great and small.

“And I have many more marks in other parts of my body, which it would not be convenient to show you just now,” he said, quietly.

“You are an old soldier, then, Ramon?”

“Very. And now I will light myself a cigarette, and you will no more talk. As an old soldier, I know that it is bad for a caballero with a broken head to talk so much as you are doing.”

“As a surgeon, I know you are right, and I will talk no more for the present.”

And then, feeling rather drowsy, I composed myself to sleep. The last thing I remembered before closing my eyes was the long, swarthy, quixotic-looking face of my singular nurse, veiled in a blue cloud of cigarette-smoke, which, as it rolled from the nostrils of his big, aquiline nose, made those orifices look like the twin craters of an active volcano, upside down.

When, after a short snooze, I woke a second time, my first sensation was one of intense surprise, and being unable, without considerable inconvenience, to rub my eyes, I winked several times in succession to make sure that I was not dreaming; for while I slept the swart visage, black eyes, and grizzled mustache of my nurse had, to all