"One moment. I do not travel about just now without a gun," said Folsom, stepping within doors, and even the low sound of their voices died away and all was still as a desert. The old trader did not return at once. Something detained him—Miss Folsom, probably, reasoned the engineer, as he stood there leaning on the gate. Aloft a blind creaked audibly, and, gazing upward, Loring saw a dark, shadowy shutter at the third-story window swing slowly in. There was no wind to move it. Why should human hands be so stealthy? Then a dim light shone through the slats, and the shade was raised, and, while calmly watching the performance, Loring became aware of a dim, faint, far-away click of horse's hoofs at the gallop, coming from the north.
"If that were from the eastward, now," thought he, "it might bring stirring news." But the sound died away after a moment, as though the rider had dived into sandy soil.
Just then Folsom reappeared, "I had to explain to my daughter. She is most reluctant to have me go out at night just now."
"Naturally," said Loring calmly. "And have you been way up to the third story? I suppose Miss Folsom has gone to her room."
"The girls have, both of them—but not to the third story. That's Mrs. Fletcher's room."
"Ah, yes. The woman, I believe, who accidentally scared your horse and threw you?"
"The very one!" he answered. "I'm blessed if I know what should have taken her out at that hour. She says she needed air and a walk, but why should she have chosen the back-gate and the alley as a way to air and sunshine?"
"Would you mind taking me through that way?" asked the engineer suddenly. "It's the short cut to the depot, I understand."
"Why, certainly. I hadn't thought of that," said Folsom. "Come right on."
And so, while the hoof-beats up the road grew louder, the two turned quickly back to the rear of the big frame house. "That coming horse brings news," muttered Loring to himself, as he turned the corner. "We can head him off, but I want to see this situation first."