He turned to find Molly Breckenridge beside him, her finger on her lip, and a wild light in her eyes. She was trembling with excitement and could scarcely wait to whisper:
“I’m going, too!”
“Girl, how can you?”
“Horseback, course. Roderick’s daughter’s lending me her own pony. Mattie, her name is, and she was all for going with the others but her mother can’t spare her. I told her I was just crazy, thinking of my Dorothy; hurt maybe, lost anyway, and nobody but a lot of men to speak to, even if they find her. Do you s’pose I’ll desert her? That I love best of all the world? I guess not. I’m a Breckenridge! Good-by!”
There was mischief in her eyes as she turned to leave him and Leslie laughed:
“Course! You’re thoroughbred—I saw that right away. And you’re my guest! Could I, as a gentleman, let you ride off alone on a lonely road at night? Hurray! You’re A 1! You’re rippin’!”
Molly sped around the house. She wasn’t familiar, as yet, with Leslie’s “rippin’” but she knew he’d approved of her wild prank and would join her in it. She was a far better rider than he, for in her own southern home she had been reared to the saddle and was never happier than when she had a good horse at command. Mattie’s pony was swift and easy, and Molly sprang to its back with the feeling that now she was “really doing something,” and that very speedily she would have her arms about her missing friend and all would be well. She had also begged Mattie to get a mount for Leslie, forseeing that he would follow her—exactly as he did. Another instant, and the pair were off along a little by-path, toward the main road and the pursuit of the searching party. As they struck into the smoother going Molly touched the calico pony with her whip and called to Leslie:
“Come on! Hurry up! We’ll have to ride like the wind to catch up with the rest!”
“All right—I’ll do my best but—but this—old nag—wait a little bit!”