“It’s no use, girlie. She’s out of hearing somewhere. Maybe she has gone to the Fort already. Any way, it’s getting very dark, and the clouds are awful heavy. I believe there’s a thunder-shower coming, and if it does, it will be a bad one. They always are worse, Mercy says, when they come this time of year. We would better hurry on to shelter ourselves. If she isn’t there, we can look for her in the morning.”
“I like a thunder-storm. I believe it would be fine to go under that clump of trees yonder and watch it. I have to go to bed so early, always, that I think it is just grand to be up late and out-of-doors, too.”
“You are not afraid of anything, Kitty Briscoe! I never saw a girl like you!” cried the lad, reproachfully.
“But you don’t know other girls, boy. Maybe they are not afraid, either. I can’t help it if I’m not, can I?”
Gaspar laughed. “I guess I’m cross, child, that’s all. Of course I wouldn’t want you to be a scared thing. But, let’s hurry. The later we get there the more trouble we may have to get in.”
“Why—will there be trouble? If there is, let’s go home.”
“We can’t go home. We’ve run away, you know. Besides, there would be the same anxiety about Wahneenah. All ’s left for us is to go on.”
So the Sun Maid settled herself firmly in her saddle and followed Tempest’s rather reckless pace forward into the darkness. Memory made the dim road familiar to Gaspar, and soon the garrison lights came into sight.
But martial law is strict and the gates had been closed for the night, as the lad had feared. The sentinel on duty did not respond to his first summons with the promptness which the boy desired, so, springing to his feet upon the gelding’s back, he shouted, over the stockade: