The day wore on. The Sioux, who had drawn off to a distance, seemed in no mood to renew the attack. They were resting their ponies.
Suddenly he saw a score of them leap on horseback again and ride rapidly away. What could this mean?
A shadow fell between him and the light. There was a hurtling sound—a crash—and before he could turn or look up, the whole world was blotted out in a stunning, roaring, heaving sea of space. Then faintness, oblivion, death.
Chapter Thirty.
“I would rather have died with him.”
Not till they had covered at least two miles could Yseulte Santorex regain the slightest control over her recalcitrant steed. In fact, in her fatigue and nervousness it was as much as ever she could do to keep her seat at all. At length, panting and breathless, she reined in and turned round upon the scout, who had kept close upon her pony’s heels.
“I am going back,” she cried, her great eyes flashing with anger and contempt. “I would sooner die than desert a—a friend.”
“Not to be done, miss,” was the quiet answer. “Vipan said to me the last thing—‘Bill, on your life take her safe in.’ And on my life I will. You bet.”