Jack leaned forward, listening with all his ears. Sight no longer aided him and he could depend only on hearing, and this availed him little. The snapping branches, the hollow thunder of his horse’s hoofs, the rustling of the night wind in the trees, the laboring breathing of his own steed, drowned all more distant sounds. Jack set his teeth hard.
Over the crest of the ridge he passed and thundered down the opposite slope. Then in a moment the woods broke sharply off, opening to right and to left, and he found himself on the edge of a wide, open space in which stood a farmhouse. Before it, just drawing his horse to a halt, was Brito.
Jack halted, reining in and leaning forward, every nerve thrilling. Was it the place? Had Brito led him true?
A crowd of men and women came pouring from the farmhouse door. With staring eyes Jack watched, counting them as they came. Two men, five women, as many children, then—then—last of all came Alagwa.
Jack shouted aloud—a great shout that startled the sleepy birds. He had found her. His hour had come.
CHAPTER XXV
AT JACK’S shout Brito looked up. Then he, too, cried out and settled himself back in the saddle.
Slowly the two rode toward each other, pistols in hand. Between them lay the hard-trampled level of the cattle yard. The sun had dropped behind the trees; the moon had not yet gathered power; no confusing shadows offered advantage to either.
Suddenly Brito flung up his pistol and fired. Jack felt his hat torn from his head and saw it go sailing to the ground. He threw up his own pistol. Then he hesitated; Alagwa and the women and children were directly behind his foe. He dared not fire.
As he hesitated Brito flung down his useless pistol and spurred at him, saber flashing as he came. Jack reined back; his horse reared, striking with its hoofs, and Brito’s black shied to the left and rushed by, Brito’s blade singing harmlessly in the air as he passed.