“I’ll not leave you,” answered Bob firmly, taking a quick look over his shoulder. “The soldiers have not yet reached the path, and there’s a good chance for us. Do your best, Ysabel!”
The girl struggled along as well as she could, Bob bounding ahead and dragging her by main force. The shouts behind were growing louder. A rifle was fired and the bullet hissed spitefully through the air above their heads.
“Fingal will kill you if he catches you,” panted the girl.
“I’m not going to let him catch me,” answered Bob.
“He will catch you if you try to take me with you! Leave me, I say. I won’t be hurt. Perhaps, if I turn around and run toward them, I can do something to help save you.”
“You’re wasting your breath,” said Bob finally. “Save it for running.”
Ysabel was a girl who was accustomed, in some things, to having her way. She thought that, if Bob persisted in burdening himself with her, he would surely be captured, and she was anxious to save him at all costs. Thus, in a fashion, she could atone for what she had done in New Orleans.
Suddenly, while Bob was dragging her onward, she threw herself upon the ground.
“I can’t go another step!” she cried breathlessly. “Leave me and save yourself.”