“We was on the wrong trail, Bud,” said Ira. “I reckon we’ll strike it further along.” And to Alison’s relief they rode away.
They were scarce out of sight before Neal’s cheery whistle was heard above the howl of the wind and the drip of the rain. Alison was at the door to meet the young man.
“All right?” he said, as he came forward, blankets and wraps over his arm.
“All right,” she replied. “I’ve let the fire die down and, unless you are very cold, I think we’d better ride on. I shall be well wrapped up, thanks to you, Sir Knight.” She hastily slipped on the warm jacket and hood he had brought her, and pinned a blanket around her. “There, I think I can stand any storm,” she said. “I look like a mummy.” And they started forth, leaving the man hidden under the pile of brush. “He will be dry and safe, even if he is suffering,” thought Alison, and then she cudgeled her brains for an excuse to get word to Brigida without exciting suspicion. She was absorbed in her thoughts for a long time, but Neal did not interrupt her brown study.
After they had again passed from the woods and had entered the way across the prairie, she turned to him and said, “Neal, would you think me a crazy lunatic if I asked you to go with me to the little Mexican village on the other side of the bayou?”
“Now? In this norther?”
“Yes, now.”
“What for? Can’t wait, I suppose.”
“Not very well. The worst of it is that I don’t want any one to know about it, and I cannot even tell you why I must go. Can you trust me enough to go and ask no questions? I will tell you before you go away again, but I can’t to-day. I want to see that woman Brigida.”
“And you are afraid she will die before to-morrow? Couldn’t I go for you? Ain’t it one of those errands those jays used to do for their young ladies?”