“Yes.”
“The way they brought him here?”
“No. Sunnysides has taken the trail over Thunder Mountain.”
Her hand fell from his arm. She swayed, as if she would collapse. Smythe grabbed her, with an arm around her waist, and led her, unresisting and dumb, to a near rock, where he seated her gently, and stood watching 207 her. He had been too abrupt, he thought; but how else could he have told her?
She struggled bravely.
“Tell me!” she said at length.
He knew little about the event at the ranch. There had been a terrific struggle; Haig had almost conquered; then the outlaw had flung him over his head, trampled one of his men, breaking his leg, and leaped the fence to liberty.
“But––Thunder Mountain?” cried Marion.
“That’s the strangest part of it,” Smythe replied. “Even Haig refused at first to believe it. Nobody knows whether it was deliberate or accidental. It seems that ‘Red’ Davis, who works for Toumine, was taking a load of hay to Lake Cobalt. He’d stopped just beyond the junction of the main road and Haig’s to fix the harness or something, when he heard a furious galloping in Haig’s road. He looked––and Sunnysides must have been something worth seeing, as he came storming down on the boy, with red eyes and foaming lips, the bridle reins dangling at his knees, and the stirrups flying. ‘Red’ had never seen him, but he’d heard a lot, and he jumped behind the wagon as if the devil was after him. But the clatter of hoofs ceased suddenly, and the boy peered around the hay to see what had happened. There was Sunnysides, just at the junction, with his head high, snorting and sniffing, first in the direction of the wagon, and then the other way up the road. With a characteristic boyish burst of daring or deviltry, ‘Red’ leaped out from his shelter, and yelled. The horse leaped into the air, let out a wild neigh, and bolted up the road toward the post-office.