"
Six men took up the chase, their faces set with grim determination. They
were well mounted, and hopeful of success. They had every incentive to
do their utmost.
"There is a large reward offered for the capture of the wearer of the
brown mask," said Lord Rosmore. "He is, besides, Gilbert Crosby, a
rebel, and, further, I have a private account to settle with him. I
double the reward."
The men nodded. It would be strange if six of them could not compass the
downfall of one. They rode on in silence, sometimes with increased hope
as the distance between them and the highwayman lessened a little,
sometimes with muttered curses when they realised that their horses were
doing as much as they were able.
"I think he tires a little," said one man presently, and Lord Rosmore
saw that they had materially gained upon their quarry.
"Where will this take us?" he asked.
"We should strike the West Road soon," was the answer. "He'll have a
hiding-hole somewhere near it, maybe."
"He is too clever to lead us to it," said Rosmore. "He'll change his
line presently, and we may have to separate. But his horse is tiring,
that is certain.
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