The word was passed in low tones. Our late prisoner, no longer an object of interest, was allowed to wander away at his own sweet will. Flinging our saddles upon our weary horses, we were in motion almost instantly. My place was near the middle of the cavalcade. The man just before me was riding a white horse, which enabled me to follow him with ease.
We galloped along at Dan's usual pace, with sublime indifference to roads—up and down rocky hills, across streams, through swamps, over fences—everywhere but upon public thoroughfares.
A Young Lady for a Guide.
I supposed we had traveled three miles, when Davis fell back from the front, and said to me:
"That young lady rides very well, does she not?"
"What young lady?"
"The young lady who is piloting us."
I had thought Dan Ellis was piloting us, and rode forward to see about the young lady.
There she was! I could not scrutinize her face in the darkness, but it was said to be comely. I could see that her form was graceful, and the ease and firmness with which she sat on her horse would have been a lesson for a riding-master.
The Nameless Heroine.