When she opened her eyes once more Harriot was sitting on the edge of the bed, cross-legged, gazing down at her unwinkingly.
“I didn’t say a word,” she protested the moment Dorothea’s eyes were opened. “I promised mother I wouldn’t wake you and I didn’t. I just looked at you—and it was funny to see you squirm.”
Dorothea stretched and yawned luxuriously.
“Is it very late?” she asked a little conscience-stricken.
“Oh, no,” Harriot assured her. “Hardly anybody is up but me, except of course, Val Tracy. He’s always out at daybreak with his troop. But he’s in a fine temper this morning. Somebody stole his best horse right out of our stable.”
Dorothea sat up in bed, suddenly very wide awake. She knew of one who had need of a horse and she wondered if any one else would share her suspicions.
“Who do you suppose borrowed it?” she asked innocently.
“I don’t know,” Harriot answered promptly. “Val insists that it must be one of the negroes in the neighborhood who is taking his freedom and wants to get away. I don’t think that’s it, but of course you can’t tell. It might be Lee Hendon, for all we know. They say he’s out-laying, and he may want to get over into Tennessee. But of course I wouldn’t tell Val that. When he stops treating me like a child, I’ll help him to find his old horse, but not before.”
Dorothea found in this much food for thought. For one thing she felt certain that Val Tracy’s natural suspicion would fall upon the man who was thought to have escaped from Andersonville and to be in the neighborhood of the May house, if not actually in it. If he had not seen them the night before with young Stanchfield, this would be his natural conclusion. And, if he had seen them, there was only one interpretation to put upon his inaction. Val, himself, had helped the man to escape, furnishing him with a good horse for that purpose. This brought the question, “Why should he have done such a thing?” To Dorothea’s thinking there was only one explanation. Val Tracy was the mysterious Red String. That would make clear much that had puzzled her. She had previously taken for granted that this unknown person was a woman because Stanchfield had evidently thought so. Now she wondered where Tracy wore his tell-tale badge and determined to look for it at the first opportunity. She would have liked to have a talk with Miss Imogene, but Lucy opened the door with her breakfast tray and put an end to her reflections.
After breakfast she and Harriot went down stairs together, and as they descended the sounds of impatient horses and of men stamping about the gallery jingling their spurs and accouterments drew them to the front door. Lieutenant Tracy and his troop were back again, but evidently preparing to leave at once, and the sight of them put another alarming thought into Dorothea’s mind. Suppose, after all, she was mistaken and that instead of Tracy’s helping Stanchfield he was then and there preparing to hunt him down? This suggestion brought a sharp catch at her heart.