They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,” quoth young Lochinvar,
So daring in love and so dauntless in war.
Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?—Scott.
Having left orders for his men to scatter and spread themselves through the forest and take different roads to their secret rendezvous, the guerrilla colonel took the mountain path and flew over it at a reckless rate, with as little regard to his captive’s cries as to his own neck.
Elfie was seated on the horse behind him and securely bound by a strong leathern girdle that passed around her waist and was clasped in front of his.
Elfie never ceased to struggle and to scold. Her arms were free and she could reach his head, so she cuffed his cheeks and pulled his hair with all her might and main. And she poured out scorn like lava on him.
But Goldsborough treated the pummelling and pulling as caresses, and the scolding as compliments; indeed, he scarcely noticed the one or replied to the other; until, after having reached the top of the mountain, they began to descend into a deep wooded dell, by a path so narrow and difficult that it was necessary to slacken speed.
“Unbind me! Put me down! Shame of manhood! how dare you treat me so?” cried Elfie, furiously, seizing his ears and making her nails almost meet through them.
“Blazes! what a little tigress she is, to be sure! I shall have to cut her claws,” laughed Albert Goldsborough.
“I’ll cut your throat!” cried Elfie.