The door closed before Scott could reply and left him alone in the moonlight. He felt his loneliness then in that unfriendly country and was grateful to the old man for his help and his friendship. With a sigh he turned down the mountain road pondering on the strange story he had heard. He could see how the news of this encounter might mean the disruption of the whole Morgan faction if it were ever revealed to old Jarred, and the girl must have seen it too.
He was walking along slowly in this thoughtful mood when he was startled by the sight of an old white horse standing in a patch of moonlight in the middle of the road. He wore a bridle but no saddle, and his head was hanging low as though he were exhausted from hard riding.
Scott’s mind flashed to the old man’s warning against Foster Wait and he jumped behind a point in the bank beside the road. He was not a coward but he did not mean to be shot down by a madman without a struggle. He peeped cautiously through the bushes. At first he could see nothing, but as his eyes became more accustomed to the uncertain light he thought he recognized the body of a person lying under the horse’s muzzle. He watched it carefully for a moment. There was no sign of motion. Surely any one lying in wait for him would not have chosen such a peculiar form of strategy. He threw his caution to the winds and stepped out into the road.
The old horse raised his head and nickered. The raising of the horse’s head let the moonlight fall on the figure in the road and Scott clearly recognized it as a woman. He ran forward and there was Vic Morgan lying unconscious in the road. A small bundle of clothes lay beside her. Evidently she had fallen from the horse, but Scott could not tell how it happened. The faithful old horse was standing guard over her unconscious form; it would hardly have been his fault.
Scott felt her pulse. She wasn’t dead. One leg was twisted under her in an unnatural position. He straightened it out and the bone did not seem to be broken. He was uncertain whether to take her back to Sanders’ cabin or home to her father. It was not much farther to the village and he decided to take her there. He tied the bundle of clothes on his belt and led the horse over to the bank where he could get on.
When he started to pick the girl up she groaned and moved uneasily. He gathered the slight form in his arms and carried her over to the bank. Just as he slipped on to the back of the docile old horse with his clumsy burden the girl opened her eyes. She looked at him sleepily at first, but as consciousness came to her she started up with a violent jerk and stared at him wildly. She evidently did not realize what had happened or just where she was.
“Let go of me,” she commanded sternly, and before Scott realized what she was doing she had boxed his ears till they rang.
He held the wildly struggling little figure as best he could and tried to explain. “Listen, I found you unconscious in the road and I’m only trying to take you home.”
“Don’t you dare hold me,” she snapped angrily, and redoubled her struggles. “I don’t want you to take me home. I’d rather die here than have you touch me.”
Scott was so taken back and so indignant that he felt like dropping her in the road and leaving her, but he could not do that. He gritted his teeth and held her the more firmly. “Well, I am going to take you home, young lady, whether you like it or not, so you might as well stop struggling. You can go back in the road and die afterwards if you want to.”