As Elliott and I were talking, he looked at the rolling hills beyond the pond and exclaimed:
"Look! Can I be mistaken, Mr. Stone? Look in the direction of Mona—away off on the plateau—is not that a horse?"
I followed his pointing and discovered in the moonlight the figure of a horse advancing rapidly over the blue-green fields, along the path that led to the bridge.
Oakes advanced to the window and gazed intently, shading his eyes with his hands. On the crest of the hill that dipped to the pond the horse soon stood out clearly against the dark blue of the sky. We could see a figure which had lain low on his neck rise and sit straight in the saddle, then flash a light.
From near the road, on our side of the pond, came an answering light; a man stood there and exchanged signals with the horseman.
The rider was moving his arms rapidly, and with them the light. The other was answering in a similar manner.
Oakes remained quiet, and we all gathered at the window about him.
"What is it?" I asked.
He turned and said to me: "Here, write as I read."
I took an envelope and pencil from my pocket and wrote as Oakes deciphered the signals.