CHAPTER XXVI
FLIGHT
It was a forbidding night. Moisture-laden clouds, drifting over the Superstition Range, emptied their fulness against the face of the mountains in a downpour and buried the Gap in impenetrable darkness. De Spain, catching Nan’s arm, spoke hurriedly, and they hastened outside toward the kitchen. “We must get away quick,” he said as she buttoned her coat. And, knowing how she suffered in what she was doing, he drew her into the shelter of the porch and caught her close to him. “It had to come, Nan. Don’t shed a tear. I’ll take you straight to Mrs. Jeffries. When you are ready, you’ll marry me; we’ll make our peace with your Uncle Duke together. Great God! What a night! This way, dearie.”
“No, to the stable, Henry! Where’s your horse?”
“Under the pine, and yours, too. I found the pony, but I couldn’t find your saddle, Nan.”
“I know where it’s hidden. Let’s get the horses.”
“Just a minute. I stuck my rifle under this 338 porch.” He stooped and felt below the stringer. Rising in a moment with the weapon on his arm, the two hurried around the end of the house toward the pine-tree. They had almost reached this when a murmur unlike the sounds of the storm made de Spain halt his companion.
“What is it?” she whispered. He listened intently. While they stood still the front door of the house was opened hurriedly. A man ran out along the porch toward the stable. Neither Nan nor de Spain could make out who it was, but de Spain heard again the suspicious sound that had checked him. Without speaking, he took Nan and retreated to the corner of the house. “There is somebody in that pine,” he whispered, “waiting for me to come after the horses. Sassoon may have found them. I’ll try it out, anyway, before I take a chance. Stand back here, Nan.”
He put her behind the corner of the house, threw his rifle to his shoulder, and fired as nearly as he could in the darkness toward and just above the pine. Without an instant’s hesitation a pistol-shot answered from the direction in which he had fired, and in another moment a small fusillade followed. “By the Almighty,” muttered de Spain, “we must have our horses, Nan. Stay right here. I’ll try driving those fellows off their perch.”