She jerked the pistol out of Lige's belt—an able, well-conditioned weapon it was, in whose use both girls were as proficient as their mother. Lige and the breathless pickaninny trotted faithfully beside her. Jemima's voice could be heard at the telephone, resolute and distinct, rousing the countryside to the rescue of Henderson. Number after number she called, gave her brief message, and rang again.
"But I bet we get there first!" murmured Jacqueline, with an excited giggle. "Three horses out, Lige. Don't stop to saddle. I suppose you can ride, Cæsar Jackson?" She laughed at her own question. Was there ever a country-born darky, or a city-born one, for that matter, unable to straddle a horse from the moment he left his cradle?
"Laws, Miss Jacky, what we-all up to dis time?" murmured Lige, apprehensively. It was not the first time he had followed his divinity into reckless adventure.
He led out the three horses, amid soft nickering from other stalls.
"They all want to come, the dears! What a pity there's nobody to ride them! We'd be quite a troop—Storm cavalry to the rescue!" Inspiration came to her. "Lige, it's awfully dark! Do you suppose it would be seen that they were riderless?"
"My golly!" chuckled Lige, grasping the situation.
"Fetch 'em all out!"
Herding the riderless horses before them, a feat in which both had had experience, they took a short cut across back fields to the road that ran behind Storm hill toward the Henderson cabin. The first of these fields was known as the hospital pasture, where grazed several mules recovering from stone-bruises, harness galls, and the like. Mrs. Kildare always kept invalided stock under her own eyes.
"Suppose," said Jacqueline, suddenly, "that we were to add a few mules to the regiment?"
Lige and the pickaninny Cæsar Jackson responded to this suggestion with a pleased alacrity. Eleven strong, they galloped into the lower pasture, where steers were being fattened for market.