"Let go," was her stern command, "or I'll shoot."
"Blaze away, Mary!" was the cool reply, as he dodged for shelter behind Bobs' head.
Unhesitatingly the girl pulled and the gun spat its stream of lead. In the confusion of the leaping horse and her dodging target with the effort to sit her saddle, the balls went wide. Not all, however, for twice came the soft wheeze of ball piercing flesh. As the balls went home, Sykes cried out, though his vigour remained unimpaired. Aware that the clip was empty she dropped the gun and addressed herself to sitting the saddle and urging Bobs in his furious struggles to free himself.
Snorting in terror, the horse leaped into the ditch, dragging Sykes with him into the trees. Plunging violently the horse galloped up the hillside through the grove. Mary kept her seat, Bobs dodging in wild plunging leaps among the trunks, until a low limb swept across their path. She could not avoid it and it caught her full in the face, sweeping her from the saddle. The powerful rebound of the strong branch flung her to the ground, where she lay quiet, a bit of white in the shrubs.
Relieved of her weight and still further terrorized, Bobs tore free from Sykes and whirling about, dashed down the Cut. Running quickly to where the still figure lay in the underbrush, Sykes picked it up in his arms and carried it into a thicket of great trees. At that instant Foyle ran up.
"Got the girl!" he applauded.
"Catch that horse," directed Sykes. "If he gets away he'll bring a nest of hornets about our ears. Run the carriage out of sight until we are ready. We made some change in our plans this morning. We are crossing the lake to Magee's Cove. The horses are waiting there. It saves us a ten-mile run about the frequented Pellawa end. The boat is ready near Grant's Landing. I am making a further change in our plans. McClure thinks we are taking the Limited for the West. Instead we are making a bee-line for Uncle Sam's the instant we reach the Cove. The plucky chit got me twice in the right arm. Only flea bites, but they are messing me up rather for a crowded Pullman. Hold the carriage ready. You'll never catch that broncho."
Foyle hastened away to do Sykes' bidding.
As Sykes looked upon the face so cruelly torn he was touched. He passed his hand over his brow irresolute. Only a moment and the compunction vanished. Shutting his jaw he muttered in determination:
"I've got you at last, Mary, and you stay with me. Nothing in God's world will take you from me—and live."