"So Lefever says."
"Where y' headin' f'r now?" persisted Bradley, as Kate heard the shuffle of a horse's feet.
"Home."
"They ain't burned your shack?" Bradley asked with a half chuckle.
Kate just heard the man's reply: "Not yet."
The hoofbeats drew away. Kate cautiously pushed back her curtain.
The late moon was shining in an old and ghostly light. Distant heights rose like black walls against the sky. At intervals a peak broke sharply above the battlements, or a rift in a closer sierra opened to show the stars.
Kate could hear but could not for some time see the galloping horseman. Then of a sudden he reached the brow of a low hill and rode swiftly out into the spectral light. There he halted. Horse and rider stood for a moment silhouetted against the sky. The horse chafed at his bit. He stretched his head restively into the north, his rider sitting motionless, a somber flat hat crowning his spare figure. For barely a moment the man sat thus immovable. Then he turned slightly in the saddle and the horse struck off into the night.
Drowsiness had deserted the tired girl that watched him. While her companions slept she sat in the solitude waiting for day. Bradley, as good as an alarm dock, was stirring with the first streak and feeding his horses. He told his passengers that the bridges were all out and he was going back to the ford.
Belle, incredulous, when first told by Kate of a visitor in the night, had no scruples in asking questions: