The other two were inside, presumably arming. The fresh cool breaths of the midnight veldt, the circumstance of our projected undertaking, the knowledge that I was in a way rendering personal service to her who stood there, lent a curious dash of excitement and romance to the situation. The air was sharp, and the wrapper which she had thrown over her head framed and set forth the calm sweet face, and the lustrous eyes seemed to take on a softer expression in the starlight. I believe I nearly made a fool of myself then and there.
“Too bad?” I echoed. “Why, I would not have missed this for anything; especially as it holds out the additional attraction of being able to do something for you in particular.”
She looked puzzled. “For me in particular,” she repeated wonderingly. Then with the flash of a smile, “No, I give it up. Explain.”
“To recover your horse.”
“Who, Meerkat? Have they stolen him, then? Brian—” as the other two now reappeared, “you never told me that Meerkat was one of the horses that are gone.”
“Oh, hang it! I’ve let the cat out of the bag,” I said disgustedly. “I ought to kick myself.”
“Don’t do that. Bring back Meerkat instead,” said Beryl, in her sweet, even way.
Of course I pledged myself to do so or die in the attempt, and all the rest of it—but my protestations were ruthlessly broken in upon by Brian’s voice. Brian has a brisk, healthy decisiveness about him when carrying out any responsible matter, which seldom fails to secure attention, wherefore now his reminder that it was time to start was effectual in cutting my farewells rather short.
“Man, I wish I was going,” said George grumpily, as he watched us mount. “It’s a beastly shame I can’t.”
Nobody took any notice of this, but Trask must needs sing out—