"Thank you, Ned!" were her happy words. "That is beautiful of you. And you do not hate Father after all his injustice?"
"No, Mary, I pity him. It is after all his greater misfortune."
"Good-bye," said she at last. "It is very hopeful after all. Meet me at the Buffalo Peak in the morning and we'll ride away into the days of our happy dreams."
Ned watched from the edge of the trees until the small white figure disappeared within the schoolhouse. He was troubled as she vanished from sight. It occurred to him that she was very frail and lonely. He had a powerful impression that he should ride through the Valley with her in the evening as she returned to her home. He had proposed accompanying her to the Peak at least, but she had demurred. It was better that they should not be seen together. There were eyes that would draw pertinent conclusions that might wreck everything. Reluctantly he turned Darkey into the trail leading to the homestead.
The last few minutes with Ned greatly lightened Mary's spirits. She felt that a wise providence was guiding them. On the heels of her great depression there followed the ecstasy of a greater hope. Even storm-clouds show a silver edge at times.
Shortly after four Bobs and his rider set out for home. The day had been bright, but as the afternoon sped away a belt of blue clouds appeared in the north. From distant bluffs came the murmurous roar of a rising breeze. As she topped a ridge gusts of cold wind swept up behind her and rushed past, imbuing Bobs with the storm panic. He scurried down the trail at a spanking canter. Very soon they rode over the crest of the Cut and down into its sheltering trees. She was riding along immersed in her momentous reflections when the sudden pricking forward of Bobs' ears recalled her to the task of guiding him down the ravine. The cause of his interest she discovered in a vehicle ahead. It was slowly threading the Cut, evidently on its way to Pellawa. She was rapidly overhauling it. While conjecturing the personnel of its passengers it wheeled out of sight about a sharp curve of the hill. She followed, cantering a moment later into a narrowed pocket of the dip. She slowed her horse, for before her the road ran over a pretty bridge, scarcely wide enough for comfort in passing a carriage. The equipage had stopped upon the bridge, crowding close to one side, leaving thus plenty of room for her to pass. Sending Bobs ahead she walked him upon the bridge. As she drew abreast of the vehicle she was startled to recognize Chesley Sykes. An alarm leaped into her breast at meeting him there, for the gulch was deep and thickly wooded. It was a hidden bit of road.
Lifting his hat casually, Sykes addressed her in a friendly voice.
"Good-day, Miss McClure! An unexpected meeting!"
As he spoke, Bobs came to an abrupt stop. Mary glanced ahead. Foyle stood in their path, his hands grasping the bridle rein. Instantly the girl realized an ambuscade. With a low, frightened cry she plunged the spurs into Bobs' flanks. Blocked in front he reared, tossing his head. His wild leap lifted Foyle and threw him over the railing of the bridge. A second leap and he snapped the rein out of Foyle's hands, dropping him into the water beneath. He had shaken one assailant, however, only to be confronted by another.
"Do not be alarmed, Mary," called Sykes, as he grasped the bridle. "No harm will come to you." With Bobs plunging violently, the girl drew the automatic.