"Pistols!" yelled Tom behind her.
At that the woman overpowered the heroine, and Kate hid her face and fell to trembling and wailing. Her wearied horse came down to a walk.
Presently up comes Tom. "Don't lose your stomach for that," he panted out. "Gentlefolks do pop at one another all day sometimes, and no harm done."
"Oh, bless you!" cried Kate; "I may yet be in time." She spurred her horse on. He did his best, but ere he had gone twenty yards, he plunged into a cavity hidden by the snow.
While he was floundering there crack went a single pistol, and the smoke rose and drifted over the hill top.
"Who—op!" muttered Tom, with horrible sang-froid. "There's one done for this time. Couldn't shoot back, ye see."
At this horrible explanation, Kate sank forward on her horse's mane as if she herself had been killed; and the smoke from the pistol came floating, thinner and thinner, and eddied high over her head.
Tom spoke rude words of encouragement to her. She did not even seem to hear them. Then he lost all patience at her, and clutched her arm to make her hear him. But at that it seemed as if some of his nature passed into her down his arm, for she turned wild directly and urged her horse fiercely up the crest. Her progress was slow at first; but the sun had melted the snow on the Nob or extreme summit. She tore her way through the last of the snow on to the clear piece, then, white as ashes, spurred and lashed her horse over the ridge and dashed in amongst them on the other side. For there they were.
What was the sight that met her eyes?
That belongs to the male branch of my story, and shall be told forthwith, but in its proper sequence.