The sun was just setting behind a mountain, as it always does in the interior of Crete. Curtis turned in the saddle and took one last long look. The white road lay very plain on the side of the low ridge over which they had come. It was in shape like a giant letter S, one end of which ended at the summit and the other among the green vineyards, climbing half way up the slope. The trees, and the deep water-ways and castles of rock on the side of the hill were indistinguishable at that distance, all blending into a general effect of soft color, but the top of the hill was sketched against the sky as distinctly as a crayon line, and on it every tree, nay, every shrub stood magnified in the parting light. There was something unnatural about this row of trees, rope-walking on a curved line swaying in the sky. As Curtis gazed at the weird effect two giant horsemen balanced on the aerial rope for an instant, and then lunged headforemost into the purple glow on the hither side. They were followed by row after row of mounted men, four abreast, that appeared and disappeared in rapid succession.
"Look, Panayota," said Curtis quietly. The girl went deadly white and crossed herself.
"My little Virgin, help us," she prayed. "The Bashi Bazouks!"
"They haven't got us yet. How far away are they?"
"An hour, may be an hour and a half."
"We'll turn off into the hills when it's a little darker. Can they see us?"
"I think not," replied Panayota. "We are now among the trees. But we'd better wait a little before we turn."
The Turkish troops had now become a long, dark quadrangle, sliding slowly down the giant S. The sun dropped behind the mountain, the white letter became black, and the quadrangle disappeared. The fleeing man and woman were in the world's amethyst shadow.
"Shall we turn now, Panayota?" asked Curtis. "I care not where, so we go together."
For answer she turned and held up her hand. He listened, but heard nothing.