The roan, with a mighty effort, cleared the obstacle, came down heavily on all fours on the springy turf of the lawn, and bounded toward the house.
The little lady had run down the steps and was jumping up and down in wild excitement in the driveway.
“Tumble off, quick!” she ordered. “Get into the hall there and shut the door behind you. I’ll tie your horse in that magnolia copse over yonder. It’s so thick-grown I guess they’d hunt a week before suspicioning a critter was hid there.”
Dad rolled out of the saddle in dazed obedience, staggered weakly up the steps and into a broad hall that bisected the house from front to rear. The dim coolness struck him like a blow. He groped for a horsehair sofa that he could just distinguish in the half-light, sank down on it, and slid helplessly from its slippery seat to the polished floor—in a dead faint.
Within a minute he opened his eyes and broke into a fit of strangled coughing. A most horrible odor had gripped his sense of smell.
Above him knelt the little woman. In one hand she held a bunch of feathers tom from a duster; in the other a still lighted match. A fume of smoke from the feathers spoke eloquently of the odor’s origin.
“Nothing like burning a bunch of feathers under a body’s nose to bring them out of a fainting fit,” she was saying cheerily. “Don’t look so wild, man. You’re safe enough. Or you will be presently. Can you stand up? Try.”
Dad called on all his failing strength and, helped by the little lady and a hand on the sofa-arm, reeled to his feet.
“So!” she approved. “Now, you just lean on me and on the banisters. We’ve got some climbing to do. Your horse is safe hid. And the men that were chasing you have ridden past. But they’ll be back.”