"You were knocked out well," remarked Oakes; "lucky you were not killed."
We returned to River Road by the way we had come, arriving there as dawn was breaking and the sun beginning to throw his rays across the plateau before us. We found our horses and the man who had escorted us from Mona.
Oakes spoke to him: "Here, Bob, let Paul ride on your horse; he has had a smash. You walk. Both of you go to the Mansion and tell the others to find O'Brien, if possible. Paul will explain. Make no arrests, but don't let your man get away."
We vaulted into our saddles and galloped ahead. As we were returning to headquarters by way of the Corners I felt like a culprit; I was devoured by chagrin, and thoroughly ashamed of my awkwardness.
Oakes's face was grave—much more so than usual—but he rode his horse with alertness and confidence, and I wondered at the endurance he displayed—also at his consideration; for in this hour, when keen disappointment must have been his, he did not mention my mishap, which had so changed events. He acted as though it were beneath him to notice it, and that made me all the more mortified; but at the same time I vowed to redeem myself in his eyes.
Dashing toward the Mansion gate, we both pulled up our horses as Oakes uttered a sudden exclamation. He rested one hand on the pommel of his saddle and pointed with the other at a man inside the Mansion gate. His back was toward us, and he had been raking the walk apparently.
"Look—notice!" and the voice of my companion grew sharp and significant; "look!"
The man was now reaching upward with one hand, the rake held within its grasp, and with a graceful, well-calculated swing he was deftly denuding a branch overhead of its dying leaves.