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bloodhounds on his track. One brute got away, they didn't find him for three days, when they did – ," Brack hesitated; he wished to rouse his listener's attention. He succeeded.

      "Go on," said Dick eagerly.

      "The trackers found the hound dead, and alongside him was a suit of convict clothes – nice well marked suits, ain't they; you can't mistake 'em," said Brack.

      "You don't mean to say the fellow killed the hound, and left his clothes beside it!" exclaimed Dick.

      "That's just what I have said, mister. Clever, weren't it? When the other hound found his mate, he found the clothes, and he lost the scent."

      "How?"

      "'Cause the man must have fled stark naked, and the hound only had the scent of his clothes; must have been that, 'cause he couldn't follow him. He'll get off right enough – you see if he don't. I wish Bill could do the same."

      "How did he kill the hound?" asked Dick. "And where did you hear all this?"

      "Strangled it. He's a good 'un he is; I'd like to have seen it. As for how I come to know by it, one of the men from the prison was here. He questioned me," said Brack with a grin. "Asked me if I'd seen a man like the one he gave a description of."

      "What did you say?" asked Dick.

      "Kept him talking for half an hour or more, gave 'im heaps of information. I filled him up, never you fear."

      "But you didn't see the man?" said Dick.

      "Lor' no! Wish I had, and that he was stowed away somewhere. I told the fellow I'd seen just such a man as he described, with his hands bound up in bandages, and a cloth round his neck. Said he'd a suit of old sailor's togs on, and that he went out in a boat with a lot of rowdy fellers to a 'tramp' in the Bay, and he didn't come back," chuckled Brack.

      "And what was the result of your false information?" asked Dick.

      "I'll tell you what the result will be. It will put 'em off the scent; they'll think he's gone off on the 'tramp' to London, and they'll give him a rest on the moor for a bit," said Brack.

      "You think the man is still on the moor?"

      "'Course; where else should he be?"

      "Then he's sure to be caught."

      "Wait a bit – a man who can tackle a bloodhound and choke the life out of him is pretty determined," said Brack.

      Dick acknowledged as much and said the circumstances were out of the common. He was interested in the old sailor's tale. He did not know whether to admire what Brack had done or to condemn it; he put himself in his place, wondering how he would have acted under similar circumstances.

      Brack watched him, a peculiar smile on his face.

      "Goin' to give me away?" he asked.

      Dick laughed as he answered: "I was thinking whether you were right or wrong."

      "Guessed as much. I was right to give such a man another chance. He's no coward, not he, and guilty men are all cowards," said Brack.

      "Who is the man?"

      "Don't know; he wouldn't tell me, but he said he was a lifer. He didn't seem very keen about his capture."

      "You mean he seemed glad the man had escaped?" said Dick, surprised.

      "I guessed as much from his face," said Brack, "and I reckon there's worse judges than me of human nature – that's what makes me think he's innocent – like Bill."

      "It's all very interesting, but pull to the Sea-mew," said Dick.

      "About time," said Brack, as he started rowing again. They were soon alongside the yacht.

      Picton had just come on deck again from the saloon. He hailed Dick cheerfully.

      "Well, early bird, what's brought you here at this time?" he said, smiling.

      "Wished to welcome you, most mighty rider of winners," laughed Dick as he got out of the boat and stood on the steps of the gangway. "Here you are, Brack, and thanks for your story; it was thrilling."

      Brack touched his cap as he said: "And it's true, and there's heaps of things thrilling that ain't true," and he pulled away.

      "Brack been spinning yarns?" said Picton, who knew the old man.

      "A real shocker this time."

      "What about?"

      "A fellow escaped from Dartmoor the other day. It's worth hearing; I'll tell you all about it later on," said Dick.

      Picton Woodridge staggered backwards. At first Dick thought he was about to fall. He looked at him in astonishment.

      "What's the matter, Pic?" he asked.

      "Curious fit of faintness came over me; I'm all right now," said Picton, but Dick thought he didn't look it.

      CHAPTER III

      THE MAN ON THE ROAD

      DICK Langford told Brack's story to Picton Woodridge and Captain Ben. Both listened attentively: it was immensely interesting to them. From time to time Ben looked at his friend to see how he took it. Dick, absorbed in his tale, did not notice the look of strained attention on their faces. They were silent when he finished.

      "Not bad for Brack, eh?" said Dick.

      The simple question made them start.

      "You fellows seem all nerves this morning," said Dick. "When I told Pic on deck, he staggered; I thought he was going to faint. You're not afraid the fellow will board the yacht, are you?"

      Ben laughed as he said: "No, I don't think we're afraid, not of one man, even if he be an escaped convict."

      "You'll want all your nerve to-morrow," said Dick to Picton. "There's three of my horses to ride, and two of 'em are brutes."

      "Thanks," said Picton, smiling; "a pleasant prospect. Worth coming all these miles for, isn't it, Ben?"

      "Depends upon what Langford calls a brute," replied Ben.

      "Pitcher's not so bad; he's what I call a humorous horse, full of pranks and no vice about him. He's number one. Now we come to the first brute, Planet, a gelding with a temper; as likely as not he'll try and pitch you into the crowd."

      "Then he ought to have been named Pitcher," said Picton.

      "We don't all get our right names, I mean names that fit; we're saddled with 'em by unthinking parents. Sis has a maid, Evangeline Mamie; now that's what I call a big handicap for the girl," said Dick.

      They laughed, and Picton asked him to pass on to number two brute.

      "The Rascal," said Dick; "he's a terror. He's lamed a couple of my chaps, and Pete's right when you're in the saddle, but it's a deuce of a job to get there. He rises on his hind legs, and conducts an imaginary band with his fore legs, but he's got a rare turn of speed, and he ought to win the West of England Handicap Steeplechase to-morrow, and the Torbay and South Devon Steeplechase the next day."

      "Then you expect to bring off the double with him?" said Picton.

      "Yes, and if you do not, Sis says she'll never speak to you again."

      "Then I'll do it if I die in the attempt," said Picton.

      "Don't be heroic, no one wants you to die. You can kill The Rascal if you like, but promise me to come off unscathed," said Dick, laughing.

      "I'll try," said Picton.

      "Pitcher ought to win the Maiden Hurdle Race, and Planet the St. Marychurch Hurdle Race. Now you have a nice little program mapped out for you, and I fancy you'll win the four events. If you do, it will be a day for rejoicing at Torwood, and the wearer of the pink jacket will be an honored guest if he cares to desert the Sea-mew for my humble abode."

      "Dick, you're incorrigible," said Picton, laughing. "You really expect to win four races?"

      "I do; Gordon won the lot at a meeting not far away on one occasion."

      "That's quite possible – he's a good rider."

      "So are

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